#and referenced a different musical and not a love song instead

[eevees-hobbies]

Nasty Girl (Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji) - NSFW

Author’s Note: I was sitting in traffic, and Lick or Sum by GloRilla started playing, and I thought, “this would make Kaji blush if it blasted through his headphones.” Anyway, GloRilla and Tinashe songs are referenced below, but you don’t have to know those songs to enjoy the story 🙂

Synopsis: New Fear has been Unlocked: not disconnecting your music from your boyfriend's headphones. Now, he just has to match your freak. 

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji. Sensory Deprivation (hearing), lyrics are explicit, Kaji imagines you giving him a lap dance, mention of Kaji smelling your sex, cunnilingus, p in v, dom behavior, dirty talk, use of the words slut and brat, ass smacking, talk of worshipping that ass, and technically a cumshot/creampie combo. Tis smut. Minors Do Not Interact. 

Word Count: 2.4K

Divider by @strangergraphics. Story banner by me.

If you and Kaji could add music sharing to the official list of love languages, it would be underlined, bolded, and highlighted as it serves as an integral part of your relationship.

You appreciate Kaji’s favorite genres. Some of your dates with him include attending concerts—hard-hitting drums and thunderous electric rifts from bands like Metallica, Slipknot, and Megadeth make up some of your fondest memories with him.

Kaji enjoys listening to you express your musical taste, too. You are most certainly not a monolith; your taste in music varies, drifting through the ebbs and flows of enjoying different beats and sounds as you float between different genres depending on your mood.

While some of the songs you like may not resonate with him personally, he’ll always nod along as you gush about your favorite artists. He adores how your face lights up, whether you’re talking about rock, metal, hip-hop, or everything else in between. So when you apologize because you’re "talking his ear off," he’ll shake his head and encourage you to keep going. “Please tell me more about Megan Thee Stallion’s new album.”

Not only do you two exchange opinions on music, but it also isn’t unusual for you to borrow his headphones to listen to your playlist. 

One day, you were preparing to make dinner, so you reached for your cell phone to put on some motivational tunes to get you through the monotony of dicing vegetables.

As you pushed play on your phone, you tilted your head to the side. You didn’t hear lyrical prose coming from the speakers. Instead, you heard the distinct sound of deafening silence. You pushed the play button again, considering that maybe you hadn’t pressed the correct area on the screen.

Still, nothing. 

As you pick up your device to investigate whether the volume is on, Kaji, seated on the couch in the other room, scrunches his nose. 

The music from the band In Flames suddenly stopped and was replaced by what he assumed to be something you were attempting to listen to. 

His eyebrows furrow as he genuinely listens to the lyrics.

Lick on my clit, make this pussy cream. Do this motherfucker how you do them Russian creams.

Yeah, there’s no doubt that this is from your playlist, and it was certainly…graphic. 

Kaji rises from the couch and approaches the kitchen doorway, pausing under the doorframe to admire you. His eyes wander over your shape, your ass jutting out a bit as you lean your elbows on the counter. 

The lyrics are still drilling into his ear, raunchier and more explicit than the first few lines he heard, but he can’t help but wonder if you’d be willing to sing these lyrics to him. He imagines your pretty lips mouthing filthy shit into his ear. 

His cock twitches, thinking about you dancing to the song, flirting your hips and ass in his lap as you tease him, letting his hands explore your body as you dip low and bend over, letting him see the way your ass eats up the fabric of shorts. Before he knows it, he’s rock hard, the outline of his dick protruding through his black skinny jeans. 

You still haven’t identified the problem, and right as you consider force-closing the application, you feel Kaji press his body against your back. You jump a little at his sudden presence and open your mouth to tell him to give you a warning next time, but before you can, he places one shell of the headphones over your ear, leaving the one closest to his mouth uncovered.

“Interesting taste you have. What did she say? ‘All over his breath like pussy flavored gum’”

Well, damn, then.

Your knees suddenly feel as though they may not be able to keep you upright, trembling and unstable, as if you’re a new babe learning how to walk again. You feel the warmth of his breath, sweet and cherry-flavored, on the back of your neck. 

Your boyfriend never talks like this. Kaji isn’t vanilla by any means, but he definitely doesn’t say things like GloRilla does in her song. 

You laugh nervously. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how hard he’s pressing your body into the edge of the counter.

“I didn’t realize that I hadn’t disconnected Bluetooth.” 

“No, looks like you didn’t.”

Kaji reaches up and places the other headphone shell over your ear—music drowns out any of the sounds in the kitchen, like the ticking of the clock on the wall or Kaji’s breathing in your ear. Instead, it’s replaced with the beginning of Tinashe’s Nasty.

I've been a nasty girl, nasty.

As she asks if anyone’s going to match her freak, you can feel Kaji’s hands tracing down your body, squeezing your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress, fingers lingering over your nipples despite the presence of your bra. He knows your body so well that he can locate them simply from memory. 

As he glides his hands down your stomach, you prepare for him to touch you where you need him the most. The drooling, twitching mess that she is needs him.

But Kaji’s hands move behind you instead of touching you where you ache. You let out an audible whine that earns you an unseen smirk. Yeah, he knows what you think you need, but he knows better. 

Need somebody with a good technique Is somebody gonna match my nasty?

He crouches down, hands lifting your dress; you don’t need a verbal command to know to kick up your feet so he can pull your panties down and toss them to the side. 

If you keep up with me I'll keep on comin' back

With his strong hands placed firmly on your ass, his fingers grip and fondle the plush flesh, earning a strangled moan from your throat. You wiggle your ass in an attempt to get him to stop toying with you and touch you. But all you earn is a searing smack to your ass cheek and Kaji’s eyes appreciating the way you jiggle for him. 

If you do it too good I'm gonna get attached

You yelp, your skin feeling a brief sting from his palm. You pout, but honestly, you only have yourself to blame, and you should absolutely know better. Kaji prefers it when you behave yourself, but when you are fervent about acting up? Fine, either a firm smack to your ass or clit, or a hand wrapped around your throat is quick to put you in your place. 

But he’s not cruel. Punishments are his last resort, and as he presses his lips to the tender spot where he smacked your ass, offering you a gentle peace treaty, you’re reminded of that. 

You once again jerk from his touch, feeling like something is pricking at your ass, but the kitchen counter and the way he’s keeping you held against it leave you with limited escape routes. 

Kaji licks the indentations his teeth made on your cheek, a low growl erupting from his throat.

Fuck, he wouldn’t call himself an ass worshipper, but he’d be willing to drop to his knees and press his forehead against the filthy ground on the street to pay homage to yours. 

Cause it feels like heaven when it hurts so bad Baby, put it on me I like it just like that

“Kaji, that hurt!”

The benefit of you being unable to hear is that Kaji doesn’t have to answer you. If he did, you’d probably hate the answer. A monotone “Good” from him would probably warrant an attitude from you. And he doesn’t want attitude—at least not at this moment—he just wants a well-intentioned taste. 

You gasp as he presses his face into your sex, nose nudging against your folds, inhaling all of you. His mouth is watering as his tongue licks up and down your already wet slit, your slick sticking to your folds in the way fresh honey sticks to a honeycomb. His fingers spread your cunt open, eyeing the way you already dribble like a slut for him.

Your eyes roll back as he delivers a peck to your pussy, then a longer kiss until his mouth forms in an opened-mouth make-out session with her, not being liberal with the use of his tongue. You begin to press yourself back onto his mouth, daring his tongue to be even deeper. And Kaji doesn’t fight you; you give a silent thanks that he’s allowing you to fuck his tongue. 

He brings his hand between your thighs, allowing the palm of his hand to rub against your clit as you bounce back on his face.

“You’re so messy,” he growls into your cunt as your slick drips down his chin and drenches his palm. And it’s the god-honest truth; your cunt is dripping, hot, wet, thick, and languid, coating his tongue and throat with your essence. You’re his favorite indulgence. When he has a sweet tooth, he doesn’t think of or crave candy; he thinks of you. 

As your cum cascades into his mouth, his tongue cleans up every inch of you, tongue sliding between your folds, over your clit, your clitoral hood, and even your inner thighs. By the time he considers it a job well done, you’re glistening in his saliva more so than your cum. 

Wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, he rises again to take his place pressed against your back.

“K-Kaji,” your moan is desperate as you press your ass against his crotch. “Need you so bad, baby!”

Kaji can’t help but keep his eyes on you as your head falls back to rest on his shoulder. You don’t realize how loud you’re being with the music playing in your ears, but he desperately hopes the neighbors can hear every single thing you yell. 

Each gasp and moan leaving your lips has him throbbing, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes travel down to your neck, watching you swallow so thickly, eyes pooling with desperation and pleading to have him, him, him.

He hikes one of your legs onto the counter, forcing you to knock over some of the produce you were planning to use for dinner. 

He’s not very patient, even in moments where he wants to savor you; he’s his own worst enemy and too eager to feel you around him. He’s already stretching your cunt apart with the head of his dick, and you lean over to give him a better angle. 

Kaji, ever the appreciative one, bottoms out immediately, stretching your hole to the thickest part of him.  

With each jerk of his hips, the headphones shift until they clatter onto the counter in front of you. The sounds you were unable to hear before overwhelm your senses immediately. You catch the end of Kaji sputtering your name so loudly that you’re surprised you didn’t hear him over the music.

“Fuck, why are you so messy?” He rasps out, breath shakey and labored not from exertion but from simply being so consumed by his desire for you he can’t help but suck in too much oxygen. 

“M-maybe it’s the way you just slobbered on my pussy?”

“Oh, god. There’s that fucking mouth. Headphones must be off.” You earn another smack to your ass and the quickening of his ruts into your sopping cunt. “Like you better when you’re too busy moaning like a slut to be a brat.”

You practically mewl in appreciation of being called a slut and a brat in the same sentence.

“Yeah, look at ya squeezing me tight, brat. Jerkin’ me off with your needy pussy.”

You bury your face into the crook of your elbow, moaning and face heating up because he’s fucking right; your pussy is wringing him, hoping to coax every last drop of his cum out of his balls.

Kaji hisses. Without warning, your cunt clamps down onto him, halting his rutting, “Fuck, pretty girl. Already?”

You whine because, really, what the fuck were you supposed to do? He should be praising you for holding on this long.

As your clenching stops, he has a bit more clearance to continue his thrusts, bottoming out into your tight, orgasming sex. The wet, squelching sound your pussy makes as Kaji hilts you are loud,  filthy, lewd, practically sounding of nothing but sin. He can’t help but think, “like those songs she likes,” as he whimpers at the thought.

“Fuck, well, I’m glad you’re feeling good. Gonna let me cum now?” He’s teasing you because, of course, he can cum. You aren’t stopping him—the more the fucking merrier. You try to utter precisely that, but he juts his hips sharply, knowing you were going to say something with that smart-ass mouth of yours, the tip of his dick drilling against your g-spot.

Your nails scrape against the counter, trying to grip and claw at something. “K-kaji, I’m…!”

You bite your lip, that all-too-familiar tightening overtaking you until it bursts, and another orgasm rips through you. 

Kaji groans and pulls out with urgency because there’s something he has to do. Call it a compulsion or whatever label you want to assign to it, but it’s something he’s compelled to do to you when the urge to cum inside doesn’t sway him.

He spreads your labia with his thumb, butterflying your pretty pussy for him. He’s giving himself solid pumps with his free hand, eyes never leaving your ass, loving the way it looks sticking out like this for him. He gasps, his moan raspy but so deliciously loud. “Fuck, fuck, fuck here it c-comes!”

His cum shoots out, splattering all over your waiting hole until it’s so covered by his thick, white seed that he can’t see your opening anymore. And the final part of the ritual? Smearing it all over your folds, the fleshy pink of you, and pushing it back in with the tip of his dick for good measure.

“What even is that fetish called?” you mumble.

“I don’t have a fetish. I just like doing…this.” He can’t tear his eyes away at how pretty she looks, covered in white.

He finally places a kiss on the back of your neck, his hand reaching around your fucked out and bent over form to grasp his headphones. “Forget cooking. Let’s order in.”

And maybe after this romp in the kitchen, you both had inadvertently conditioned yourselves to use certain songs to initiate sex. His dick automatically hardening when you play songs that bring him back to the moment in the kitchen, and him placing the headphones over your ears as he fucks you to the same music that celebrates getting your back blown out.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Cat Man Do: Part 2 (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Seconding Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 11,000 Summary: It is a day of discovery for you. Warning(s): Swearing, sexual fantasies, referenced masturbation, kissing, dirty talk, referenced marking/hickies, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V sex, referenced oral sex (male receiving), referenced animal abuse (not graphic) Series Masterlist Matt Murdock/Daredevil Masterlist General Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @indestructeible, @what-i-call-men, @reblog-reblog666, @flynnethenerd, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @yarrystyleeza, @bellaxgiornata, @reluctanthalfwayofoptimism, @bluerobin35 Also posted on AO3

Cat Man Do

Part 2 of 2

“And that’s the last of it,” you said to yourself as you put the last of the dishes into the drying rack. While you dried off your hands, you did a quick survey of your handiwork. The apartment was now back to its normal state of relative tidiness. The only remaining mess was the nest of blankets that Trouble had burrowed himself into and presumably napping it.

It had been tempting to peek. Very tempting. But you knew yourself. If you did that, you wouldn’t be able to resist petting him. Then you would probably give into the urge to see if he liked any of the cat toys you still had . . . then boom, the housework would be completely forgotten.

It wasn’t that you hated housework. It was just boring. Which made any number of procrastinating distractions rather appealing. Listening to music or podcast on your phone usually helped. Singing along with your favorite songs or learned something interesting made it feel like the dull but necessary work wasn’t taking so long. Thought you had to avoid certain ones while doing housework because sometimes they got you arguing with the people in the magic box instead of doing what you were supposed to. Like ironing your work clothes . . .

Other days, your brain decided to turn whatever was coming out of your phone into white noise and simply daydreamed. Today was one of those days. Fortunate for getting your work done, those daydreams stayed innocent. Imaging Matt having his way with you on your kitchen table, for example, would have been rather distracting. Case in point, even just the thought of that fantasy was making you squirm.

Keeping them sweet didn’t prevent Matt from taking the staring role. Far from it. Which was embarrassing for all different reasons. It was one thing to have sexual fantasies about an attractive man. Picturing that same man saying three little words with that deeply fond smile on his face had different implications.

Implications that made you feel stupid. You knew falling in love with your boss was a bad idea. The king of bad ideas. Mousy secretary falls in love with her incredibly attractive boss is the premise for a romance novel, not a recipe for true love forever. You were going to get your heart broken. Probably not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

You weren’t looking forward to it. Watching women hit on him already felt like a knife to your heart. Watching while he meet someone else and fall in love with them was going to be agony. Assuming you stayed around to watch. Which you likely wouldn’t do. You weren’t that much of masochist.

The worst part was that you wanted Matt to find his special someone. The person who would make him laugh and help him find joy. Someone who would comfort him when he was sad, take care of him when he was sick. For him to know that someone loved him, that they wanted to stay forever . . . you wanted that for him.

Maybe it was selfish but you just wished that special someone was you.

You knew it was unlikely. Matt had never stated an interest in you beyond friendship. Yes, he flirted. But Matt flirted with everyone. And yes, you had gone on all those outings with him. But those were friend outings, not dates. And yes, on those occasions when Matt asked him to guide him, it seemed like he was reluctant to let go of your arm afterward. Or how he kept holding your hands after they had gotten warmed up after forgetting your gloves last week, only dropping them when the office phone rang . . .

But he never said anything. Sometimes it seem liked he might. Moments where he said he had something to tell you, something that he wanted to ask, that seem like maybe . . . then nothing. Either the universe intervene – phone calls, fire alarm, sudden loud argument between two food truck drivers – or it wouldn’t be exactly what you were hoping for. Like asking if you would be his plus-one at some fancy party being thrown by Columbia Law alum next weekend. That wasn’t a date. It was just practical since he and Foggy had only gotten their invitations to said party this week . . . It was a very deliberate snub considering Marci had received hers month ago . . .

Granted, you hadn’t said anything to him either. In part because you wanted to avoid ruining what you already had. You genuinely liked being Matt’s friend. You valued that relationship and didn’t want to lose it. Or make things incredibly awkward. But big part of it was simply that you weren’t ready to hear ‘I’m flattered but . . .’

You’d probably never be ready. Because no matter how kindly someone tries to let you down, rejection always stung . . .

“Enough moping,” you told yourself sternly. You had a mystery to explore.

But first you were going to check on Trouble. He had been rather quiet. Too quiet. He might simply be asleep but your experience said that sometimes the too quiet cat was a cat getting into mischief. You walked over to the blanket cocoon and peeled back the layers until you found the lithe, brown form. A pair of yellow-green eyes blinked sleepily at you. You couldn’t resist. There were few things cuter than a drowsy cat. You reached over and started lightly scratching behind the ears. Trouble purred and bumped his head more firmly into your hands.

“Hey there, sleepy kitty,” you said. “Enjoy your nap?”

He made one of those trilling noises which only made your smile grow. And encouraged you to keep petting him. Which wasn’t a hardship.

“Your coat is so soft, Trouble,” you said. “Feels like velvet.”

Like your new dress, the one you had let Marci and Karen talked you into buying for the fancy party. You hadn’t intended to buy anything when you accompanied them to the stops. You had fully intended to just wear one of the dresses you already owned. But then you saw it.

A pretty black dress made of velvet that looked like it was your size. Curious, you had checked. It was. Moreover, it was marked off enough to within your limited budget. Which made it very tempting. A temptation that Marci enthusiastically enabled. Come on, at least see how it fits . . .

It fit perfectly, hugging your curves just right. Offered tantalizing glimpses of skin without showing off more than you were comfortable with. You had felt beautiful wearing it. Which meant Marci and Karen didn’t have to push very hard to convince you to buy it. Karen sweetened the deal by reminding you that Matt loved velvet. And that maybe feeling so pretty would give you the confidence boost you needed to tell him how you felt.

Something that both Karen and Marci seemed very certain would be received well. You weren’t nearly so sure but you brought the dress.

In the name of making you feel as pretty and confident as possible, Karen and Marci decided you also needed new shoes and underwear. When you objected that you couldn’t afford to do that, Marci countered that she would pay. Which was why you were now the proud owner of a pair of heels that cost a frankly ridiculous amount of money. Because when Marci decided to treat someone, she didn’t believe in going cheap.

The underwear set had been more reasonably priced but still seemed like a lot for a bra and panties. Even if they were made of high quality silk and lace. But they had looked good on you too and Karen had asked you to imagine if everything went well and the night ended with your dress on Matt’s bedroom floor . . .

You didn’t know what had flustered you more. Your own imagination or that evil, knowing grin on Karen’s face or Marci supplying lewd details of Matt’s sexual prowess. Not from her own experience but she knew people who had slept with him. People whose stories she trusted to be accurate.

Karen insisted that the underwear had to be dark red. Saying with a mysterious smile that Matt would find it hot. Which just confused you. For obvious reasons, purely visual elements like color didn’t hold any appeal for Matt . . .

“Why?” you mused out loud. But since Karen wasn’t here to pester, your only answer was a questioning meow from Trouble. Which probably had more to do with you getting so lost in your head that you had stopped petting him than anything else.

“Sorry, Trouble,” you said, resuming the pets. “Got distracted. Trying to figure out why Karen thinks Matt would find me wearing red silk underwear sexy.”

Trouble made the strangest sound you had ever heard from a cat. Like he couldn’t decide which cat noise to make and kept switching tracks part-way through each one. If he had been human, you would have said he was sputtering.

It was such a funny reaction that you couldn’t help giggling.

Matt’s current form prevented him from blushing. Which he supposed he should be thankful for. His sputtering already had you giggling. He could only imagine your reaction to seeing his cheeks go what he had been told was a lovely shade of dusty pink.

What was Karen up to? Telling you something like that?!

The fact that it was true was immaterial. Now he would have fantasies about running his hands over your curves, feeling your petal soft skin encased in silk . . . and the idea of you wearing Daredevil red immensely pleased that possessive streak that ran deep inside him . . .

But he didn’t need help coming up with impure thoughts about you. He already spent far too much time touching himself while imaging you spread out on his bed, exploring every inch with his hands and mouth, the sounds of your pleasure filling his ears . . . Fantasies that were going to be a lot more vivid now that he knew exactly what those noises sounded like and just how sweet your arousal tasted . . . even if tasting it from the air was a poor substitute for tasting it directly from the source . . .

Matt shook himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

You turned your attention toward your pack and the mystery inside it. You moved the pack over to the couch and started pulling out the suit.

The red color was brighter than you expected, dark scarlet instead of the maroon it had looked under the dim light of your flashlight. The webbing between panels wasn’t black either. It was a deep, deep red that almost black. Like those really good cherries that you loved but could never remember what they were called. It was was just as heavy as you remembered, with the heft that reminded you of an old friend’s bulletproof vest. But more flexible . . . actually, looking at all of the webbing interwoven into it, you’d guess a lot more.

“It seems Daredevil is a bendy vigilante,” you mused outloud. “Probably not as bendy as Spider-Man but that guy is made out of silly-putty. Or at least his spine is.”

The suit was a little scuffed but otherwise looked fine. No holes, rips, or tears that you could find. No visible blood . . . you sniffed. You couldn’t smell any blood either. Just sweat. Something clean that you recognized as saddle soap. The fainter odor of plain soap along with something very familiar.

“Huh,” you said, eyeing the suit. “Daredevil and Matt wear the same cologne. Small world.”

Next, you checked the pouches on the belt. There weren’t that many. They contained a prepaid cell phone that you set aside to look at more closely later, zip ties, fold-up cash, and business cards. Curious, you shuffled through the cards. Nelson & Murdock, Alias Investigations, Chikara Dojo, FEAST, Helping Hands . . . . Each business or charity was separated by paper clips or rubber bands.

“Curious,” you murmured, wondering why . . . maybe he just didn’t want to spend time shuffling through them looking for a particular one? Or didn’t think he would always have time to do that? Maybe he had folded up the cash for the same reason. As long as he remembered how each card was bundled or bill folded, he could get out the right one without looking at them.

You turned your attention to the phone but was immediately stymied. The phone refused to turn on. It didn’t look broken. Which probably meant that it needed to be charged. Guess you weren’t the only one who forgot to put their phone on the charger. Or maybe Daredevil used a phone while fighting crime a lot more than anyone would expect. You grumbled as you got off the couch. You weren’t sure if your charger would work with this phone. Thankfully it did but the batteries were practically dead. Investigating the phone would have to wait.

In the meantime, you inspected the helmet. It was the same color as the suit but not the same materials, something more rigid. But it seemed to be in good shape. You couldn’t see or feel any cracks. You traced the edge of the characteristic horns and mask. You were unable to resist to urge to put the helmet on your own head. It probably looked ridiculous. There was nothing superhero about your oversized tee shirt featuring a gray cat calling itself ‘purr-fect’ and sweat pants. But you were curious. What did the world look like to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?

The answer was very red. You had expected a reddish tint from the color of the lenses. But it was more intense than you expected. It was also less . . . clear than you would have thought. The lenses weren’t opaque – you could see through them. But tinted dark like a pair of sunglasses.

“Odd,” you said, wondering why Daredevil had what was effectively sunglasses built into his helmet. It seemed peculiar. Especially for a vigilante that operated almost exclusively at night. And had a known habit of cutting lights to places before going in. The consensus in the hero forums was that Daredevil must be able to see in the dark. But, you frowned, even the best night vision still needed some light . . . even nocturnal animals couldn’t see in total darkness . . .

“If he has superhuman night vision,” you thought outloud, pulling off the helmet. “Maybe his eyes are really light sensitive?”

Trouble meowed loudly. It sounded almost like a no.

“Vetoing that theory, Trouble?” You asked, glancing over at him. He had crawled out of the blanket cocoon and was doing the big stretch. Which, by the rules of cat companions everywhere, you had to comment on. “Ohhh, big stretch!”

He meowed again. You laughed. It was almost like he was answering you.

You smiled and shook your head. Despite Trouble’s rejection, the theory was plausible. Someone whose eyes worked very well at low light could very well be someone that found bright light painful. And while he worked at night, New York City wasn’t all that dark after sundown. Nowhere near as dark as it was out in the forest.

Granted, Hell’s Kitchen was darker at night than most of the city. Streets lights and other sources of lighting that had gotten damaged in the Incident still hadn’t been repaired or replaced. Somehow there was never enough money in the budget. At least not for something like street lights. Some of the landlords were similarly disinclined. Others had died during the aforementioned alien invasion and similar attacks on the city. And many of those estates were a byzantine nightmare of disputed wills, shell companies, and other assorted legal headaches.

You knew this because Nelson & Murdock was one of the many laws firms attempting untangle this particular Gordian knot. The progress had been slow and uneven. Matt and Foggy had muttered many unkind words about property law, estate law, the lawyers involved in creating this mess, and especially the lawyers trying to keep the knot intact because the mess benefited their clients . . . which yes, was their job. But they didn’t have be so smug about it . . .

The color of the lenses was another question mark. Why red? Then you remembered something you had read . . . red lenses or red lights helped people kept their eyes dark adapted or helped them adjust to low-light conditions quicker. Of course that little nugget had been discovered during a romp through Wikipedia Wonderland. So massive grain of salt . . .

Of course, it could simply be aesthetics. It fit with the Devil theme. You imagined that seeing the sudden glint of those red lenses from out of the shadows would be quite intimidating.

“Or maybe he just likes red,” you muttered to yourself, putting the helmet down on the coffee table.

You drummed your fingers against your thigh, staring at the suit . . . why? Why would Daredevil abandon his suit and (possibly) walk into the night wearing (possibly) only whatever was under the suit?

“Which couldn’t be much,” you mused, your face flushing at the thought. Most images of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen were either low-quality, out-of-focus, or too shadowy to make out much. But from what you could tell, the suit was close-fitting. No much room for anything but him in there. Or nothing at all. Which was an idea that made your flush worse.

Matt might have been the leading man in your fantasies but he wasn’t the only one to appear. You had entertained thoughts about Daredevil. Very dirty thoughts. Which was really saying something considering some of the ones involving Matt . . . but there was just something about the vigilante that could made you feel feral.

You had the feeling that those fantasies were about to get more vivid. Because now, you knew what the suit looked like up close. What it felt like under your hands. Granted what it felt like without Daredevil actually in it. Which was, if you were being perfectly honest, a little disappointing. You might be carrying the torch for Matt but that didn’t stop other men from being attractive. Or your mind from idly (and somewhat guiltily) wondering if Daredevil’s suit struggled to contain his muscles the same way Matt’s suits struggled to contain his . . .

Something touched your thigh. You jumped before realizing it was just Trouble putting one of his paws on your leg. Probably looking for attention. You reached down to start petting him, scratching him behind the ears. Which he seemed to enjoy, purring as he crawled onto your lap. You were easily tempted away from your mystery.

“You’re a total lap cat, aren’t you?” you asked. Your only answer was louder purring.

You were starting to feel almost sleepy, sitting here with a purring cat in your lap. Especially on a day like this, gray and unusually quiet for New York. Which made the notification chime from your phone inordinately loud. Checking it required disturbing Trouble. Which he made very clear that he didn’t like.

“I know, I know, you were comfortable,” you said, checking the notifications. Mostly text messages from friends and family making sure you were okay. You had just sent off a couple of replies when you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

Looking away from your phone, you peered at the suit. What . . . oh. There was something inside the crumpled suit, a bit of fabric peeking out. Curious, you sat down your phone and touched it. Silk. You gave it a gentle tug and the cloth came out.

Immediately, you felt your face flush again. It was underwear. Specifically a pair of men’s black boxers. Black silk boxers. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen wore black silk boxers. For reasons you couldn’t really explain, this made you giggle.

The universe was a peculiar place. One where a blind defense attorney and a vigilante had interesting things in common. They both liked silk. They wear the same cologne. And estimating from the suit, Daredevil and Matt were the same height and had a similar build.

And apparently knew a lot of the same people. Matt carried a lot of the same business cards, personally knew the owners. Though you were a little unclear on how he had met some of them. Jessica Jones, you could see. She lived and worked in Hell’s Kitchen and her zero-tolerance policy for assholes often got her trouble with the cops. But the others were less clear . . . It didn’t help that when you had asked, the story you had gotten had been rather vague.

It wasn’t the only story where Matt, Foggy, and Karen got evasive. Another sign that there were secrets in the office of Nelson & Murdock. And not the normal client-confidentiality type secrets . . .

Glancing back at the suit, you noticed something else. Something you couldn’t believe you had missed. It didn’t look like it had been stripped off. None of the zippers or other fasteners were undone. You frowned, looking closely at it again. How could he have gotten it off without undoing any of the fasteners?

All thoughts of Daredevil were driven out of your head when Trouble let out a pained yowl. You snapped your head up to see him fall off the couch, writhing and twisting like he was having a seizure. You rushed toward him but then something weird happened. Trouble began to grow and swell, becoming bigger and bigger . . . body twisting and jerking the entire time . . . until what was laying on your floor wasn’t a cat. It was a man.

A very familiar man. Matt Murdock lay there, his body still twitching and spasming. His chest heaved and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

You couldn’t believe your own eyes. Had that really just happened? You pinched yourself. It hurt. So not a dream. You reached out and touched Matt’s shoulder. It was solid and warm under your hand. The muscles still twitching from . . . whatever that was. But gradually the twitching stopped and the tension in Matt’s jaw eased.

“Sorry,” he said. His voice was strained. “Didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Find out what? That he turned into a cat? Or . . . you looked at the suit. Then it clicked. All of the pieces suddenly made sense. Matt was Daredevil. The suit didn’t look like it had been stripped off because it hadn’t. The person wearing it had merely gotten much, much smaller.

“You’re Daredevil?” you asked, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“And you turn into a cat?” you asked. You hoped not. He was a very cute cat but that transformation had looked like hideously painful.

His lips twitched into something like a smile. “Not usually. This was the first time.”

“Okay,” you said. You took a deep breath. Than another. Your boss was Daredevil. He had been turned into a cat. You had taken him to your apartment. He might have observed you having a dirty dream about him. This was fine. You were fine. Everything was fine.

Another breath. “Expected development?”

“No. Magic spell. I think.”

“Magic spell?” you repeated. “Like actual magic? You know, nevermind. Of course, magic is real. Why the hell not? We were invaded by aliens. There is a Norse God living uptown. Why wouldn’t magic be real?!”

You were babbling. But you couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that Matt was really smiling now. With the dimple and everything. Which had always left you flustered. Especially when combined with that fond look. Even if it almost immediately faded to something sober and tentative.

“Let me sit up and I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay,” you said. But as he started to push himself into a sitting position, you noticed something. Something that left you even more flustered. Matt was naked. Completely naked. Not a single stitch on him. You could see his . . . everything. Feeling your cheeks burn, you jerked back and whirled around to face the wall.

“Sweetheart?”

You felt your heart beat faster at the pet name. He had never called you that before. At work, he was entirely professional. And when you were at Josie’s or an outing, he just called you by your name.

“Clothes,” you said, feeling little frantic. You needed answers – to so many things – but you couldn’t have that conversation with him while he was naked. You would get . . . distracted. But none of your clothes would fit him . . . wait, the boxers! Where . . . you looked . . . there!

You scurried forward and snatched the boxers off the floor. Keeping your eyes firmly on his face, you went and dropped the underwear into what you hoped was his lap. “Your boxers. This isn’t a naked conversation.”

A soft huff of laughter. “No, it isn’t. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart again? It wasn’t a slip of the tongue? Your cheeks couldn’t get any warmer but they sure tried.

You turned away again to give him some privacy while he dressed. For a given value of dressed. Considering it was only underwear. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt and tried not to think about that. Or his . . . everything. You had limited success.

“I’m decent. You can look now.”

‘That’s debatable,’ you thought after you turned to face him. Yes, everything that needed covering was now covered. But the boxers fit him snugly enough that very little was left to the imagination. Not that you really needed your imagination anymore . . . . And that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of him.

You had known he had muscles. You just hadn’t realized he had quite so many muscles . . .

Matt realized that you had gotten distracted when it took a couple of times calling your name to get your attention. He was well aware that you were attracted to him but it was still gratifying to his ego to experience your body’s reaction to him. And the way the temperature and blood shifted to your face when you realized that you had been caught staring was rather cute.

But he soon sobered, remembering what you had just discovered. What he needed to explained. “Do you remember how I lost my eyesight?”

“I remember,” you said.

“Those chemicals didn’t just blind me,” he said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He squared his shoulders, bracing himself for your inevitable reaction. Then he explained how his remaining senses had been enhanced to a superhuman degree. How he could hear everything happening around him, for several blocks. Further if he was focusing on someone he was familiar with. How he could very likely find Foggy, Karen, or you anywhere in this city if he needed to.

That his other senses were just as keen. Did his best to describe his world on fire. The others had poked fun of his metaphor but it was the best one he had found. He felt the usual frustration at not having the right words, the perfect words, to describe how he experienced the world. Words that help someone else understand his world without the misconceptions.

But such words didn’t seem to exist. He had to make do with the ones he had.

He took another deep breath, continuing in a very firm voice. “My senses do not change the fact that I cannot see. There are things my senses cannot tell me. Like what color anything is. Times when my world on fire isn’t as reliable as I would like such as when I’m tired or ill. My cane and other adaptive equipment aren’t props. I’m not pretending to be blind. I am blind.”

“Someone actually said that to you?” you said, sounding shocked. It was the first time you had spoken when he had started talking.

“Yes,” he said, trying not to remember how Foggy had spit out those words. Hardly the most painful thing that had been said that awful night . . . but the clear disgust in his voice had stayed with Matt for a long time . . .

“Who?” you demanded, your heartbeat sharply rising. He heard the shift of bone and muscle as your hands curled into fists. It was sweet that your first reaction was defend him. If it was completely unnecessary.

“Doesn’t matter,” Matt said, waving it off. “They didn’t really understand the explanation at first. Neither of us were in the right head space for the conversation. We’ve talked more since then and now they get it. And they apologized for that particular misunderstanding.”

You sighed.

You weren’t entirely surprised. Matt tended to be forgiving. Along with a rather concerning habit of ignoring or downplaying things when he was the one being treated poorly . . . And, as you silently reminded yourself, you didn’t know the whole story. That wouldn’t make what they said okay but it might make it understandable . . .

Regardless the decision to forgive or not to forgive was ultimately Matt’s, not yours. And he had obviously chosen to forgive whoever it was. Best to let it go and change the subject.

“Do you want some coffee?” you asked. “Or something else to drink?”

That bit of gravel in his voice might do all sorts of tingly stuff to your insides but he had been talking for a while. His mouth must be getting dry.

“As long you are making it anyway, coffee would be great,” Matt said.

“Coming right up,” you said and went into the kitchen. As you set up the coffee to brew, you did your best to process anything you had just learned.

Matt was Daredevil. It explained a lot. Foggy and Karen certainly knew. It was the only explanation for why they went along with Matt’s very obvious lies about how he had been injured. And why they didn’t seem . . . well, you couldn’t say that there was no concern. You had seen the pinched look of Foggy’s face when Matt was moving like it hurt him to breath. The worried, accessing look Karen gave particularly colorful bruises.

And yet, they had accepted every single one of his excuses from the plausible to the silly without question. Told you there was nothing to worry about when you expressed concern about Matt’s well-being. Even through sometimes neither looked like they really believed that . . .

Now you realized that they were concerned. It was just a different kind of concerned. Because they weren’t wondering how Matt kept getting hurt. They weren’t racking their brains trying to figure out who was hurting him or if all those worrying signs were related to some kind of health problem. Like maybe he was having seizures or something like that but was refusing to see the doctor . . .

But every theory you came up with kept hitting the wall for not being able to explain why Foggy and Karen didn’t seem to share your concerns. Why they clearly loved Matt but ignored that something troubling was obviously going on with him. . . . It hadn’t made any sense.

Now it did. Matt was Daredevil. They knew he was Daredevil. And knew his injuries were from fighting crime.

Matt had super senses. Which meant, you realized with a certain amount of horror, he had absolutely heard you moaning his name while touching yourself this morning. You buried your face in your hands with a soft groan. There was no hiding your non-platonic feelings anymore. The cat was out of the bag. Pun fully intended.

“What’s wrong?”

You jumped. You weren’t expecting his voice to be so close. He wasn’t crowding you or anything. His position by the edge of the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room was a couple feet away from where you were standing in front of the coffee pot. But you hadn’t heard him moving around. Apparently he didn’t need to be cat shaped to walk silently through walls.

“Sorry,” he said, though the little twitch of his lips belied that apology. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Somehow,” you said, willing your heart to slow back down. “I doubt that.”

“Do you?”

“I saw those lips twitch,” you pointed out. “You think making me jump is funny.”

“That is quite the accusation,” he said with mock seriousness. “Do you have any evidence?”

Using his courtroom voice was cheating. Especially when he was only wearing boxers. Pure cheating. You pulled out your stubborn streak, standing with your fists on your hips. “I know what I saw. I will not be fooled by your twisty-turny lawyer tricks into saying otherwise, Mr. Murdock.”

“That sounds like a challenge, sweetheart.”

The pet name said with that almost purring voice sent tingles down your spine. And brought renewed heat between your legs. Rather annoyingly the cocky smirk on his face did nothing to diminish that ardor. Maybe if he had been wearing more than boxers . . . or if he didn’t look so good half-naked . . .

A soft cough brought you back to the present. You felt your cheeks get warm again, realizing that you had been so busy staring at his abs that you hadn’t noticed him talking.

“Distracted?” he asked, a teasing grin spread wide across his face.

“No,” you said quickly, feeling the warmth in your cheeks intensify.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Lie.”

“What?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that I can tell when someone is lying?” He said, feigning innocence. It wasn’t a very convincing performance. He was far too amused.

“No, that detail hadn’t come up yet,” you said. “How?”

“Mostly your heartbeat. It changes when someone is lying.”

Suddenly, something you had observed at the office now made sense. Your job was more on the reception and secretarial side but sometimes you acted as their paralegal. When acting in that role, you had seen Foggy subtly nudge Matt who would give a little shake or nod of his head. You hadn’t know what to make of it at the time. Now you realized that Foggy was checking to see if their client or whoever else they were interviewing was telling the truth.

When you asked about your theory, Matt was quick to confirmed it. A moment later, the coffee finished brewing. You pulled down the two mugs, then doctored them to each of your coffee preferences.

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” he remarked, after taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged. “It’s not that surprising once I started thinking about it.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

Matt chuckled. “What, you didn’t believe that I got that black eye tripping over a curb?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Come on, I thought that one was very plausible.”

“Only for someone who doesn’t know you,” you said. “Or your friends pretending for the sake of your secret identity.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

You drank more of your coffee, enjoying the comfortable quiet. To avoid getting distracted by his half-naked body again, you kept your eyes on his face. Which probably wasn’t the best plan. Matt’s handsome face was a distraction in its own right. Especially when he wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. It wasn’t the first time you had seen him without them but the sight always pleased you. It meant Matt trusted you. Not with all of his secrets, obviously, but enough that he didn’t feel the need to hide himself.

Along with those lovely hazel eyes, there were further delights. The generous mouth, good cheekbones and that strong jaw dusted with facial hair. Heavily dusted today. He hadn’t shaved lately. So he had the very start of a beard. You had never seen Matt with a beard. You bet that he would look good with one . . .

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt said, interrupting your attempts to imagine him with a beard.

“Nothing important,” you said. “Just noticed you hadn’t shave lately and was idly wondering if you were growing a beard.”

Matt made a thoughtful humming sound. “It is tempting this time of year but they get so itchy during the summer.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience,” you said.

“It is,” he said. “Wore one for a couple years during college. Shaved it off just after starting L1.”

“Any particular reason why?” you asked, making a mental note to ask Foggy if he had any pictures of bearded Matt. You needed to see them. For science. Or something.

“An especially muggy day in August when the air conditioners decided to stop working. And the girl I was seeing at the time liked me clean-shaven. Said my beard was too rough when I kissed her.”

A salacious grin spread across his face. “Among other activities.”

“Did she?” you said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Because your mind had immediately become consumed with imagining the delicious contrast between prickly beard on your thigh while his soft lips . . . warmth flooded your cheeks.

You saw Matt’s nostrils flare. Then the tip of his tongue slipped out to run across his lips. He made a soft moan that went straight to your cunt. It was impossible not to get worked up. Not with those images in your head. Not with that sound. You were equally unable to stop your breath from hitching as he stepped closer. And closer, stopping just shy of touching you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice had always done things to you but that huskier timber really made you shudder. There was only one answer you could give.

“Yes.”

And he was kissing you. Gentle at first, a delicate press of the lips with your head cradled in his hands. But it didn’t remain that way for long. Not after all those months of pent-up desire. Now that you didn’t have to resist kissing him, you all but devoured his mouth.

Matt matched your eagerness, seemingly just hungry for your mouth as you were his. Even the need for air barely kept your lips apart. The entire world might as well have disappeared. You were aware of nothing else. Only that mouth kissing you and greedily swallowing every moan you made. Only those large, warm hands sliding down your body, skimming the sides of your breasts until coming to rest on your hips. Only his body against yours. The edge of the counter digging into your back barely even registered.

At least to you. Matt made some grumpy-sounding noise, then his hands were gripping your hips and lifting you up onto the counter. Your startled yelp turned into a moan when he slot himself between your legs. Any lingering doubts you had about him finding you physically attractive were dispelled at the feeling of his growing erection rubbing against your core. You couldn’t contain a second louder, stuttered moan. Even with too many clothes in the way, it felt incredible . . .

“If you want me to stop,” he rumbled, nuzzling your neck. “Tell me to stop. Tell me no.”

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice dangerously close to begging. But you didn’t care. You had wanted this for so long. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to.” he said, then one hand abandoned its place on your hip to tug lightly at your shirt. “May I?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, rising your arms to help Matt pull off your shirt. Despite the heater chugging away, your skin still immediately pebbled. Your nipples had already tightened into peaks. You kissed him again as your shirt was tossed . . . somewhere. You weren’t paying attention to your shirt. All of your attention was Matt and the hungry, almost feral look on his face.

Matt ran his hands over your body, exploring every inch of bare skin from the tips of your fingers to the waistband of your sweatpants. So soft, even softer than he had dreamed. Keeping his hands to himself the next time you were at work was going to take some serious self-discipline. He blazed a trail of kisses down your neck until he found a spot that had you shuddering.

There, he applied little nips and lathed at the skin until he was satisfied there would be a mark. One that by happy coincidence should peek out from behind the collar of your work blouses. Good. That should let any would-be suitors know that you were taken. It was selfish but he didn’t want share this delightfully soft skin with anyone.

Or how responsive you were. He greedily took in all your reactions. The dancing rhythm of your heart. The breathy moans as his mouth continued its downward journey. The gasps when he started lapping at one peaked nipple while squeezing the other breast in his hand. The way you cried out his name when he latched onto that nipple and sucked. The way you arched your back, begging for more. How your nails bit into his shoulder when he obliged, swirling his tongue around the hardened nipple. The whines when he removed his mouth from that breast . . . and how it turned into a wordless cry when he gave the other breast the same attention.

Best of all, the scent of your arousal soaking through your panties. All because of him. You smelled just as sweet as you had been this morning. Only this time he wasn’t a cat. Soon, he would be on his knees. Soon, his face would be buried in that wonderfully drenched pussy . . .

Soon . . .

You were burning. A fire that Matt had lit, then steadily built with his hands and mouth until you burned with need. An urgency that the man himself didn’t seem to feel. He moved at a speed that could be best described as languid.

“M-matt,” you whined.

“Yes?” he asked, lifting his head from your breast. Seeing his lust-darkened eyes and kiss-swollen lips made the growing ache in your cunt worse. “What does my sweet girl need?”

My sweet girl . . . . Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing. “Need you.”

“Gotta be more specific than that,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

You were half naked on your kitchen counter and fully ready to have sex with this man and yet somehow that question still managed to fluster you. “Maattt.”

“I’m not a mind reader, sweetheart. You have to tell me what you want,” he said, sounding almost conversational. But his voice was too husky, his eyes too hungry, for that. The way his thumbs rubbed the skin just about the waistband of your sweatbands was another dead giveaway.

Your mouth opened, then closed.

“No need to be shy, sweet girl,” he continued, pausing to give another little nip to the top of your right breast. A spot that you hadn’t realized that so sensitive until he started lavishing it with attention. “No one but me will hear you.”

Biting your bottom lip, you considered that. He was right. It was just you and him. And you trusted him . . . Maybe you should start with something simple?

“My pants and underwear,” you said, managing to keep your voice steady. “I want them off.”

The smirk he flashed you was all kinds of wicked. “As you wish.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants and started tugging it down. Along with your panties. In a sharp contrast to his earlier leisurely pace, he quickly yanked down the clothes and tossed them aside. Like with your shirt, you found yourself too distracted to notice or care where your clothes went.

Matt gripped your knees and spread your legs wide. He then sank down to his knees, shifting forward until he was tantalizingly close to where you desperately wanted him. The sight once again had your cunt clenching around nothing. A deep rumble, almost like a growl, erupted from him. It matched the feral expression spreading across his face.

“Tell me what you need,” he demanded, his voice a growl full of gravel. You shuddered. You had never heard him speak like that. But it worked you up just as much as his courtroom voice. His hands tightened on your thighs. “My fingers?”

He lifted one hand away from your leg, then ran a single thick finger through your folds. You gasped when that finger brushed over your clit, then groaned with disappointment when that fleeting touch was all you got. Then felt your mouth go dry when he raised the finger to his mouth and licked off your slick. Especially when Matt let out a low moan, briefly closing his eyes in clear pleasure.

“Or my mouth,” Matt continued. You gasped when he leaned forward and gave the entire length of your cunt a single lick. You tried to lift your hips but Matt’s hands clamped down on your thighs and pinned you down to the counter.

“Matt!” you pleaded but the grip on your legs remained firm.

“Tell me,” He said, then blow a puff of air against your desperate cunt. He nuzzled your inner thigh, his rough stubble sending sparks down your spine. “What does this beautiful pussy want?”

“Maatt.”

“Tell me, sweet girl.” He kissed your inner thigh. Then another kiss. It rapidly became clear that your desperate cunt wasn’t going to get the attention it wanted unless you said the words.

“Matt!”

“Tell me.”

“Your mouth,” you begged. “Please, I need – fuck!”

Matt did another long, slow lick up your entire slit. After a teasing swipe across your clit, he turned his attention to your soaked entrance. There he lapped with soft, little licks which were obscenely loud. Like he was messily eating an ice cream cone. One that he clearly enjoyed, making a low noise that sounded remarkably like purring. The vibration contributed to making your own, much louder moans. Instinctively you tried to squirm but his hands kept you right where he wanted you. You could feel that familiar pressure start to build.

He pulled away. No! You started to protest but was cut off by Matt lifting your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Then his mouth was back on you, his tongue circling your entrance before slipping inside you. Your hands scrambled for something to hold onto as his tongue fucked into you again and again

That something ended up being Matt’s hair. But he didn’t seem to mind, rewarding every tug on the hair twisted tightly in your fingers with a loud groan. Then his tongue slipped out of you, switching its attention to your clit. You cried out. He altered between teasing licks and stronger lapping as you chanted his name.

Matt wrapped his lips around your little bud and sucked. You almost screamed. Your legs began to tremble as you started hurling toward your peak. Then he thrust two thick fingers inside you. Your thighs squeezed his face between them. Close, you were so close . . . then his fingers curled. You fell over the edge calling out his name.

Your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers. Fingers that continued to work you through your orgasm. His mouth remained latched onto your clit, sending wave after wave of white-hot pleasure. Only you started to whimper from oversensitivity did he lift away from your clit. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his mouth. You let out warbling moan as he noisily lapped at your entrance.

By the time he pulled away, you were a limp puddle on your own kitchen counter. Despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched again. Because Matt looked thoroughly debauched. His hair mussed, eyes half-lidded, those pink lips swollen and glistening with your slick. While you watched, his tongue slide out and slowly licked it off.

Matt knew you were watching him. It was obvious from the way your heartbeat sped up. The hitch in your already heavy breathing. The fresh slick dripping out of your cunt, even more tempting now that he knew just how sweet you tasted. He settled for the slick clinging to his two fingers, putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean. Not as nearly as good as getting it directly from your cunt but the strangled groan you made watching him do it was its own reward.

Fingers now clean, he carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders and rose to his feet. Matt heard you shifting, pushing yourself back into an upright position. Then, your hands reached out and tugged his head down to kiss him. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself.

But you didn’t stop there. Your hands leisurely made their way down his torso until you reached his boxers. Your fingers dipped under the waistband, then hesitated.

“May I?” you asked.

“Please,” he answered, eager to see what you would do.

Permission granted, you peeled his boxers down. His cock eagerly sprang free of its confines. As Matt finished pushing his boxers off, you felt a tinge of nerves. His cock hadn’t looked small during your brief glimpse earlier. But it had been flaccid then. Now that his cock was fully erect, you realized he was rather more . . . impressive than you had first thought. Or even imagined and Past You had been rather hopeful that he had a big dick . . .

“Sweetheart?”

The clear concern in Matt’s voice had your head snapping up. He was frowning at you, his brow furrowed with worry.

“You know you don’t have do anything, right?” he asked, his tone deadly serious. “If you want to stop right now, we will.”

“No,” you said, rapidly shaking your head. “I want to.”

He frowned, his head titling slightly to one side. Listening, you realized. Doing his human lie detector thing. “But?”

“I’m just a little nervous,” you said, tapping your fingers against your bare thigh.

“Why?” he asked.

You felt your cheeks warm. “It’s . . . um . . . you’re . . . ah . . . bigger. Than any . . . of my exes.”

“Is that so?” Matt looked distinctly smug. “I can be gentle. But if you’d like to wait –”

“No,” you interrupted. Because nerves wasn’t your only reaction to seeing his cock. Feeling suddenly bold, you reached over and wrapped your hand around his cock. And feel another tinge of nerves and anticipation at realizing that Matt wasn’t just long, he was thick. You started stroking him, slowly adjusting the firmness of your grip as you watched the reactions on his face. He moaned, his hands finding their way back to your hips.

You noted, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that he looked a lot less smug now.

Feeling more confident, you continued, “I don’t want to wait. I want this.” Your thumb swiped across the tip, smearing the weeping pre-cum. His hips jerked and out of his mouth came a beautiful groan that you immediately wanted him to make again. “Inside me.”

His hands tightened on your hips. That feral look was creeping back in. “I don’t – ah – have a condom.”

“Don’t want one,” you said. You knew it was a dumb thing to do. Reckless. But you were tired of all of the barriers that had been separating the two of you. The thought of another one just rubbed you the wrong way.

Your hand slide off of his cock. A faint whine escaped his throat. Tempting you to put your hand back. But it felt . . . coercive . . . to be giving him a handjob while asking him if he wanted a condom after you had just made it clear that you didn’t want one. Especially since you knew Matt had a people-pleasing streak.

“But I, um, have a box of condoms in my bedroom. If you’d rather wear one,” you offered, feeling renewed warmth in your cheeks. It had been an impulse purchase during one of those rare periods when you were both determined to tell him your feelings and confident it would go well . . . only to chicken out once you were actually in front of Matt.

“I don’t think many man would rather wear one,” he said. “As long as you were sure . . .”

“I am.”

“Okay,” he said. “When did you buy these condoms?”

There was a peculiar note in his voice. He sounded almost . . . jealous? But that couldn’t be right. Why would Matt be jealous?

“Last month,” you said. “Past Me, um, had a moment where she, ah, . . . was very confident that you’d agree to a date? And that sex might happen afterward?”

A smile spread across his face. “Past You would have been right. Past Matt would have agreed in a heartbeat.”

“What about Current Matt?” you asked, daring to hope.

“Current Matt agrees with Past Matt,” he said. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

Your heart gave a leap. “You would?!”

“Of course,” he said, utterly matter of fact. Like he was stating something obvious. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Matt Murdock wanted to go on a date with you. “I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked.

“In part because you didn’t know about Daredevil,” he said. “Not telling a one-night stand is one thing. Not telling my girlfriend is something else.”

“Girlfriend?” you repeated.

“Yes,” he said. “If you would like to be.”

“I would like that,” you said, smiling.

“Good,” he said. Then he suddenly laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“All the ways I pictured asking you to be my girlfriend,” Matt said. “Standing in your kitchen naked wasn’t one of them.”

“Me neither.” You giggled. “We’ve done this all topsy-turvy.”

“We have,” he agreed. “Normally, I’d take you to dinner before burying my face in your sweet cunt.”

The reminder sent fresh arousal pooling between your legs. Despite that toe-curling orgasm, that particular body part was eager for more. A desire that only increased when his pink tongue darted out to slowly lick his lips. Then he made another soft moan. The same soft moans he had made while eating you out . . . your heart raced as something finally clicked together in your mind.

“Can you taste, um, . . ?” you trailed off, feeling your cheeks burn. You couldn’t say it.

“How wet that pussy is for me?” Matt said, his eyes darkening. “Yes. Having my mouth on you is better but from the air, the aroma of it, is still . . . intoxicating.”

Part of you was embarrassed. Especially when you thought about this morning, that Matt hadn’t just heard you touching yourself. But another, larger part of you was powerfully turned on. There was something very hot about knowing that just the taste of you, the smell of you, was putting that hungry look on his face.

You squirmed. Then something else occurred to you. “Technically you have taken me to dinner many times.”

“Very true,” Matt said, then chuckled. “Foggy has been saying that we’ve been dating for months.”

“Karen said the same thing,” you said. “Maybe they are right?”

“Definitely,” Matt said. “And we’ve been idiots.”

“Total idiots,” you agreed, then pulled him down for another kiss.

You could still faintly taste yourself in his mouth. Before you knew it, your hands were buried in his hair. Matt used his grip on your hips to pull you over to the counter’s edge. He pressed himself against you. Despite the intervening conversation, he was still hard. Feeling himself grind his cock against your cunt had felt good before. But now? Without any clothes in the way? It stoked that banked fire inside you into an inferno.

You wanted . . . no, you needed him. You didn’t care that you were in your kitchen. You needed that cock filling your achingly empty cut. You needed him to fuck you stupid.

“Matty,” you whimpered, breaking away from the kiss. “Need you.”

“What do you need, sweet girl?” He rumbled against your throat. “What does your pretty pussy need?”

This time you didn’t hesitate. “Needs your cock. Needs you to fuck me.”

He growled. You expected him to line himself up, to start fucking you right then and there. Instead he shifted his grip to your thighs and lifted you off the counter. Startled, your hands abandoned his hair in favor of his shoulders to steady yourself as he carried you out of the kitchen. Given the small size of your apartment, it didn’t take to figure out where he was taking you.

Sure enough, soon he was lowering you down onto your bed. He kissed you deeply as his knees encouraged your legs wider. Not that you needed much encouragement. He grinded against you, coating his cock in your slick. Sparks raced down your spine every time the head nudged your clit. It was so good. It was not enough. Your cunt clenched desperately around nothing.

“Stop teasing me,” you begged. “Please . . . fuck me.”

Which was apparently all he needed to hear. Matt took himself in hand, lining himself up with your entrance. Then, finally, he was inside you. You gasped, nails digging into his back. It was just the tip of him but the stretch was noticeable. Despite the clear hunger on his face, he didn’t move. Stayed right where he was while your cunt fluttered around him until you were ready for more. Slowly, he pressed in deeper and deeper. Until his cock was fully sheathed inside you.

You felt so good. So deliciously full. No one had ever filled you like this. Then Matt started to move, gently rocking his hips into you. Pleasure washed over you with each back and forth movement of his cock so deep inside you. You couldn’t stop moaning. You could feel yourself climbing back toward that precipice.

“Taking me so well,” Matt said, then groaned when your cunt clenched around him at the praise. “Ready for more, sweetheart?”

Your answer was another stuttered moan.

“Words, sweet girl. I need words.”

“More,” you managed to moan out. “More. Mo-”

You were cut off by sharp snap of his hips. His first real thrust into you. You cried out wordlessly. Cries that only got louder as the thrusts got faster and deeper. Instinctively, your hips began to move. You thought he couldn’t get any deeper. You were wrong. As soon as you matched his rhythm, you felt him sink just a little further inside you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Just like that.”

Matt was always handsome. But there was something indescribably beautiful about how he looked now. The pull and flex of his muscles as he moved in and out of your body. Skin kissed with sweat. Hair, a fluffy chaotic mess. His face, for once, with no sign of worry or stress. Just pure pleasure. The grunts and moans spilling out of his mouth with each thrust only added to the beatific vision on top of you.

Your climax had been steadily building but now you were teetering on that edge. Just a little bit more . . .

Matt must have sensed it somehow because his next thrust was slower but impossibly deep and hard. You gasped, your back arching. He did it again. Your body began to shake, toes curling . . . Close, you were so close . . .!

“Matty,” you whimpered.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” Matt grunted. “Cum on my cock.”

Another impossibly deep thrust and you did.

Matt groaned as your cunt gripped his cock tightly as you cried out his name. He never stopped moving, drawing out your orgasm until you were a babbling, shaking mess underneath him.

Only then did he start chasing his release. He pumped into you hard and fast, his entire world narrowed down to you. The delightful pain of your nails raking up and down his back. Your heart pounding in his ears. The guttural noises you made as he fucked you. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your cunt as he moved in and out . . . you were so fucking wet. All for him. Because of him.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. Not with the way your cunt kept clamping down on his cock like a vice. Feeling his balls start to draw up, he tried to withdraw. He intended to release himself on your stomach. But you loudly protested, back arching and frantic hands grabbing his ass in a bid to him keep inside you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum,” he managed to grit out.

Your hands only gripped his ass tighter. “Cum inside me. Wanna feel it.”

Truth. “Sweetheart.”

“Matty, please.”

That did it. He couldn’t resist your begging. With one last hard thrust, he buried his cock deep inside you and came.

Breathing hard, it was tempting to collapse on top on you. But he couldn’t. He was too heavy. He carefully pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. Still catching his breath, he gathered you in his arms, pressing your back against his chest. Perfect. Matt liked a good cuddle afterward. Didn’t understand what some men had against it. Your soft, naked body against his, smelling like sex and his pheromones? Yes, please.

For a moment, Matt attributed your little restless movements as simply getting comfortable. But quickly he realized that wasn’t entirely it. He reached between your legs. Felt you jolt when his fingers found your clit. Then moaned as he started rubbing gentle circles. You were already very sensitive. It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak again.

Matt buried his nose in the back of your neck. In a little while, he’d need to get up and get a washcloth. Clean up the mess he had made between your legs. But not right now. Right now, he was just going to enjoy having you in his arms.

The storm broke that night, after dumping almost ten feet of snow on the Big Apple. The powers that be had crews out clearing the streets and restoring downed power lines bright and early the next morning but it took several days to get the city fully up and running again.

You and Matt weren’t trapped in your apartment the entire time. Just a couple days. Despite the fact that neither of you were used to living with anyone, it was . . . comfortable. You cooked together in your tiny kitchen without much trouble. He did his share of the housework without prompting or complaint. You discovered during the brief power outage that, in addition to being a lie detector, Matt was a human furnace. Also that he was cuddler.

Once his phone was charged enough, Matt called Foggy and let him know that he wasn’t dead. He made Matt put him on speaker-phone so he could tell you both ‘I told you so.’ A sentiment echoed by Marci and Karen. Among many, many others.

The sex continued to be mind-blowing. And frequent. Because you both were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourselves. A shower became Matt fingering you, then fucking you against the wall. Watching a movie turned you kneeling between his legs, taking his cock into your mouth. Blissful Puddle was a very good look on him.

By time Daredevil slipped out of your window on the third night, your cunt had been given quite the workout and you had lost track of your orgasms.

Life went back to normal. Well, as normal as dating a vigilante could be. You worked. Matt saved people, in and out of the courtroom. You and Matt still went on your outgoings together, only with a lot more hand-holding and kissing. And often followed by enthusiastic sex in either your places or his. Matt quickly fulfilled his promise to introduce you to his silk sheets. You were very happy.

Tonight as you headed up to Matt’s apartment, you were filled with curiosity. Matt told you that he had a surprise. Then you reached his door, he pulled his usual trick of opening the door just as you raised your hand to knock. Just to make you jump.

“Having fun, Trouble?” you asked, entering the apartment.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he denied. But his eyes were too filled with mirth to make his protests believable.

“Lie.”

His lips twitched. But you were distracted away from whatever smartass remark that was about to come out of his mouth by movement behind Matt. You looked and to your surprise, it was a cat. A little brown-and-gray tabby standing in front of the slightly ajar bedroom door, its tail curled into a question mark.

“When did you get a cat?”

“I didn’t,” Matt said. “You did.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, assuming you want her.” He smiled. “I promise this one wouldn’t turn into a vigilante.”

“Certain of that?” You asked. The question was only partially teasing. The recent events had only cemented your desire for another feline companion. But, as much as you were happy with how things had worked out, starting to get attached to a cat only to discover that you couldn’t keep it wasn’t fun.

“Very. According to my magic expert, she’s just a cat.”

You filed away ‘magic expert’ as something to pester him about later. “Where did you find her?”

“Dumpster,” Matt answered, his expression turning grim. “Inside a knotted pillowcase.”

You stared at him in horrified disbelief. Not at Matt’s story. You believed him. But at the sheer cruelty. You knew people could be cruel. You weren’t that naive. But it still shocked you.

“Someone actually did that?”

“They did.” His voice reflected the same anger, the same horror, you were feeling. “Not the first time I’ve found something like that. Wouldn’t be the last.”

He took a deep breath. Visibly reigned in his temper, saving it for the streets or the heavy bag. “Normally I take the animals to an all-night shelter but they’re full right now. They’d still find somewhere for her with one of their fosters or something . . . but I found this one by the same dumpster where you found me. So I thought, maybe it was a sign.”

You smiled. The cat redistribution system at work. And that was that. The cat was officially yours.

You named her Blizzard.

END NOTES

Gordian knot is a legendary knot that became a metaphor for an intractable problem solved by bold stroke. Or in this particular case, one which Matt and Foggy dearly wish they could solve with one bold stroke.

That red light/red lenses thing comes from Wikipedia so treat it with the appropriate level of skepticism.

In Nelson vs Murdock, Foggy had every right to be hurt and angry with Matt. But even if it was deserved, doesn’t make what he said less painful to Matt. Personally, I think Foggy had hit that point of angry-hurt where you just want the other person to feel as badly as you do. And since Foggy is Matt’s best friend, he knows exactly which words will hurt the most. Moreover, I think he was too upset that tonight to really absorb Matt’s explanation about his senses. Hence some of his caustic comments during Season 2.

I have no proof that this incarnation of Matt has ever worn a beard. But shh, we’re having fun here.

It is my understanding that New York City during August is not only hot but miserably humid.

[mirisss]

Enhypen poly reaction to "The new Kard"

Pairing: Enhypen OT6 (not including Niki because he’s a minor) x idol! (Y/n)

Wordcount ≈ 600

Warning: Kard’s song Cake is referenced (quite a sexual song & choreo), some sexual innuendo, mdni, nothing explicit,  

Summary: In a world where the Kard we know today doesn’t exist, instead a new Kard is created. “The new Kard” = (Y/n) - 02 liner dating Enhypen, Keeho (P1harmony), Ricky (ZB1), & Yunjin (Lesserafim). So how will Enhypen react to their beloved girlfriend’s debut? 

Authors note: Thank you for the request! This was such a fun idea, I’m not an expert when it comes to Kard but I listen to their music every now and then. It’s sort of short but it’s mostly because it’s a reaction fic. Not my best work, but I hope you still enjoy it. 

Request by 🍮 - anon

Please reblog! 

Third person POV

(Y/n) participated in I-Land with the Enhypen boys where they all fell in love and entered a poly relationship, though unfortunately, (Y/n) did not debut with the boys. Instead (Y/n) had to wait another 2 years until she got to debut, her debut group was one-of-a-kind as it was a four-member co-ed group consisting of Yoon Keeho, Huh Yunjin, (L/n) (Y/n), and Shěn Ricky. 

Enhypen was waiting for the MV for (Y/n)’s debut song to drop. They couldn't wait to see the choreo or hear the song as (Y/n) had told them, they would be very surprised. The members were counting down the seconds to see the MV, just the same as a lot of pre-debut fans were. Enhypen had gotten permission from HYBE to stream their reaction to the MV as it was well known that Enhypen and The New Kard were good friends, the relationship between Enhypen and (Y/n) hadn’t been released yet but the fans knew the two groups were good friends. 

“3, 2, 1! It’s out!!! LET’S GO!!!” Jake screamed as the other five boys laughed. Jake clicked on the now-posted MV for “Cake” by The New Kard, they were very intrigued by the name ‘Cake’. (For reference here, check out Cake by Kard). Throughout the entire MV, the Enhypen boys kept shouting “OH! WAH! Holy!” And things alike it. The fans watching the stream were freaking out over Enhypen’s reactions as the boys seemed to be speechless but also a little turned on by the way they were blushing and watching one of the Kard members. The fans couldn’t tell if it was Yunjin or (Y/n) they were so focused on. 

Once the MV was over, the Enhypen boys were blushing and giggling like crazy. “Wah, that was, wow,” Was all Jay managed to say. A few minutes later they ended the live and called (Y/n), asking her to come over. 

* When (Y/n) arrives at Enhypen’s dorm * 

“Hey guys,” “Hey, baby,” Heesung said as he gave (Y/n) a hug the second she stepped inside. (Y/n) noticed the looks the boys had in their eyes, it was playful. “Come on, come inside,” Sunoo said giving her his signature innocent smile that she loved, though the look in his eyes told a very different story to his smile. “What’s up with you guys?” “Hmm, (Y/n), why don’t you show us the choreo to Cake? We want to see it live,” Sunghoon whispered in her ear, causing chills to run down her back. “Please, baby? It looked so good in the MV, I bet it looks much better in real life,” Jungwon said before kissing her cheek. “Of course,” If anyone else had asked, (Y/n) would never have done it but now it was her dear boyfriends and she too felt very excited by their reaction. 

Not my gifs - but this is pretty much how I imagine their reactions

[iwanthermidnightz]

“Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.

Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.

Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.

In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.

Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.

There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”

A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.”

— NYT OPINION: Look What We Made Taylor Swift Do

[girlsneedff]

Impted

Chosou x reader

Slightly NSFW- sexual activities are only mentioned. Still, minors and ageless bios stay away from this pls!!

This is based off of the song Imported by Jessie Reyez and 6LACK. I was blasting that all while writing (and not studying for finals).

Oh, and I drew the pic…

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ *:.｡. o .｡.:*☆

He doesn’t know why he’s getting so sad over this. It happens all the time. The girl that he loves finds some guy at a party, then they head home together, leaving Chosou a wreck. He knows it’s not fair, and he should have moved on a long time ago, but he can’t.

It’s hard to move on from someone you love- especially when she’s telling him “I love you” back. But she doesn’t want to make it official- she knows that this man will literally walk on his hands and knees to appease her, and she acts like he’s just some guy. It aggravates him to high hell, but he’s still hopeful about her.

This night was no different. She came with Chosou, and she’s leaving with another man. He can see her chatting this guy up from across the room in the house party. She’s batting her lashes up at him, playing with her hair, letting him feel all up on her. Chosou’s seething- you can practically see the steam rising from his head. With every bass boosted beat of the music in the house his heart is being torn to shreds. But she’s made it pretty clear that the two of them aren’t together- at all. He’s beginning to realize that they never will be.

“You look pissed as hell.”

A voice from behind him says, as (presumably, the owner of said voice) snakes an arm across his shoulder, leaning over the back of the chair to talk to him.

He peels his eyes off of ‘his girl’ and gives his attention to the voice.

It’s you. Your hair’s done up- you’re wearing a tube dress with necklaces and other jewelry adorning you. Lipgloss is shining. You’re smirking at him. He’s never seen you before- ever.

He doesn’t respond to you. Instead, he just looks at you blankly, then back at the girl he came with, dancing with another man.

“You like her, huh? In love with your best friend?”

That annoys Chosou a little bit. They’re not best friends- they’re… they…. Fuck he doesn’t even know. He takes a sip of his alcohol, just trying not to send his mind into a spiral.

“I get it. Happens to the best of us.”

Chosou would really prefer if you left him alone to wallow in his own self pity, but it seems that you have no intention of doing that. You haphazardly rub his chest, trying to comfort him.

“Thank you for- thank you for coming to my party.” You slur, smiling warmly.

Great. A drunk hostess. Not that he also wasn’t tipsy- it’s just that he’s sitting down, and he’s focusing all of his sobriety on his love.

And this is your house. It must look so nice when it’s not full of a bunch of mid to late 20-year olds getting wasted as fuck and destroying the place.

“Thank you for having me…”

“Of courseeeee,”

He side eyes you, as you place your head in your other hand.

“You’re too cute to be here upset about a girl.”

You grab the back of his head, which startles him, a tinge of red dancing across his cheeks as you move his head to look around.

“Take aaaa look at all of the possibiliessss.”

You’re referencing all of the people in your home right now. He doesn’t doubt that there’s some beauties in your humble abode, but they’re not her.

When you let go he looks back up at you, rubbing the back of his head clumsily. Now he’s really looking at you. Before he was so focused on his girl that’s not his girl, but now that he’s really really looking at you-

You’re bad as fuck. Real bad. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or the fact that he’s been ignoring his heart skipping beats like it’s beatboxing ever since you came to pester him. He hasn’t felt this feeling for anyone but her in a long time.

You pick up on his staring, looking him up and down. Then you say, with a sly grin:

“Maybe I can offer some help…”

He stiffens, and it’s noticeable. You let out a small hum, seemingly happy with his reaction, running the hand wrapped around him along his chest.

“Come with me.”

You take said hand and grab his jaw, turning it towards his situationship.

“You really want to sit… and watch in agony?”

He gulps, feeling his heart squeeze even harder, watching this girl on the verge of kissing the random man of the night.

“Your eyes are so easy to read.”

He looks to his side, and sees you leaning over further, damn near falling onto the couch to look at his face.

“At least for now, I can help you forget.”

His face is burning up, and he’s feeling dizzy. Maybe it’s the drink? Or his situation? Or how close you are to his face?

“If you’re not down to fuck, that’s fine too. We can have fun other-“

“I want to fuck.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even process what he was saying with the little control he had.

You let out another hum in satisfaction with a grin.

“Shit- ok then.” You kiss his cheek sloppily, then stand back up behind the couch, waiting for him so you guys can go.

He stands up, looking at ‘his girl’ then back at you over his shoulder. You’re leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, looking at him. Obviously undressing him with your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek.

Your confidence and unabashed ogling is something he’s not used to.

Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but he likes it. Maybe it’s the punch you’ve brewed up for this party, but he’s starting to remember it’s nothing serious between him and ole girl. Perhaps it’s the drink, but he hopes you grip his hair just as roughly as you were doing before, whether he’s eating you out, or you’re riding.

You’re here- for the night, at least. It’s been so long since he’s had sex.

For once, his mind isn’t on her.

Maybe the best way for him to get her out of his head is to get inside of you- at least for the night.

[olive-garden-hoe]

PLEASE SOMEONE LISTEN WHAT IF

“The Moon Will Sing” is ABOUT A PARENT

Note 1: this is in no way supposed to be definitive, it is my interpretation as someone who relates heavily to the song in this context

Note 2: this interpretation is in no way, shape, or form trying to say that the way the singer depicts her relationship with her parents in this song is indicative of her relationship with her parents in real life. It is not my place, nor anyone else’s, to speculate about how accurate this song is to her personal life. Though my wording may seem as though I am talking about the singer’s actual relationship with her parents, I mean it strictly in the context of the song. We must all respect the artist’s privacy.

“Tell me once again, I could’ve been anyone anyone else, before you made the choice for me”

The singer is expressing her disbelief that her whole fate was practically determined by her parents, that she could’ve been so much different if they didn’t mold her to be a certain way

“My feet knew the path we walked in the dark… I never gave a single thought to where it might lead”

The singer was unaware of the path her parent was taking her and was kept in the dark about what the steps her parents told her to take would lead. The fact that she ‘never gave a single thought’ implies naïveté that is consistent with an exceptionally young child blindly following their parents instructions

“All those empty rooms, we could have been anywhere… else, instead I made a bed with apathy”

The ‘empty rooms’ could be a reference to the unfurnished facets of her life that her parents may have forced her to leave empty in pursuit of ‘furnishing’ other ‘rooms’ (I.e. they won’t let her explore music because she needs to focus on grades). The bed of apathy likely means that she had become too tired to debate or fight back, that she opted for inaction and acceptance of her parents’ molding for the sake of ease and because she was too tired from working on furnishing these rooms to do anything besides continue the cycle.

“My heart knew the weight, ten years worth of dust and neglect, we made our peace with weariness and let it be”

This could be saying that the tiredness the singer expresses formerly exists in her parents as well, that everyone is just too tired to address any issues within their families. I would like to note that, while not explicitly stated, this may be referencing ‘The Hand that Feeds’ where her father was established to “work all his days.”

“The moon will sing a song for me, I loved you like the sun, bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own, I shine only with the light you gave me…”

THE WHOLE VERSE IS SO FIRE OMG ANYWAYS The singer is expressing how she relates to the moon due to the way it is completely dépendant on the sun for its light. In the same way, she may be saying that she feels as though all the goodness or impressive qualities are only the result of her parents’ light. In other words, sheath be expressing a deep-seated fear that she is not quite fully a new person, rather just a combination of her parents and/or their actions

“Name your courage now”

Her parents may, in her adult life, be boasting about how good they were to her when she was a child. However, it is only putting a name to ‘courage’ that ultimately may have done more harm than good or have just been the bare minimum

“We could have had anything else, instead you hoarded all that’s left of me”

Now we’re getting into a new facet of the relationship with the parents! It seems that they also were overbearing in some way, stopping the singer from getting the experiences or friends she wanted.

“Swallowing your doubt, like swords to the pit of my belly”

She seems to be internalizing her parents’ cynicism and/or criticism and allowing that to mold her. It seems her parents not trusting her hurts her a lot, meaning she places a lot of emphasis on their approval/trust, which is supported by the first verse

“I want to feel the fire that you kept from me!”

In the story of Prometheus, the god steals fire from Mount Olympus to give to humans and gets punished for it. The reason this may be important is because the Crane Wives are no strangers to referencing folklore (look at the explanation behind their name). We can reasonably assume that they are acknowledging the double-faceted nature of fire that the myth of Prometheus displays. Fire is something that gives advancement, the basis of early and modern technology as well as a major way our world consumes energy. It also provides light and warmth, as well as an opportunity for rebirth (look at why forest fires are beneficial for forests). At the same time, fire is the great consumer, it spreads and burns as it goes, leaving ash in its wake. The Prometheus story not only references the consequences of bringing such a force to mortals, but also why Prometheus thought it was important to risk himself for. In this lyric, the singer references a fire that was kept from her, which from the previous discussion we can reasonably assume includes both the growth fire brings and the destruction it causes. I’m other words, I believe this lyric is saying that the singer desires for both sides of life, growth and harm, that her parents ‘protected’ her from.

[foxes-that-run]

Clean

I'm so sad we didn't get videos for 1989TV, but we did get some great visuals in the lyric videos. Especially Cleans, which references a lot of other songs. I see similarities to the music video for Style, Out of the Woods, Late Night Talking, Falling and Cardigan. I think this fits how often this song has been referenced in other songs by Harry and Taylor.

Timeline

Clean was written on 9 February with Imogen Heap. Taylor said in the Grammy Pro event:

“When you get your heart broken, or you loose someone from your life, or when you’re trying to recover from a breakup, it’s almost the same kind of struggle that someone goes through when trying to beat addiction. It’s not one habit your breaking, it’s every single minute of the day you’re breaking a habit. And it’s exhausting. I had this metaphor in my head about being in this house. There’s been a drought but you feel like there’s a storm coming, and so instead of blocking out the storm you punch a hole in the roof and just let all the rain come in. And when you wake up in the morning, it’s washed away everything that used to hurt you. And then you’re clean.”

Taylor also said it and Shake it Off were the last song's written, but Style was actually the last song written on 19 February 2014.

Live performances

Clean was on the 1989 mainset list proceeded by the Clean Speech which changed slightly every night. There is a wonderful Masterpost of Clean Speechs most of these. The Speech generally stated with a scene setter that they are all there together, going through things and would end with variations on " And then I think that if you continue to move through your life, and replace old habits with new ones, I think you can erase that feeling that everyone sees your mistakes when they’re looking at you. And that’s the moment you know that you’re finally clean." The middle section of the speeches varied depending on what Taylor wanted to say. I think these are a nice call back to Speak Now Arm Lyrics, which started after she may have first met Harry.

Since the 1989 World Tour it has been played Clean on:

21 July 2018 - end of (Cruel) summer end of Live on Tour, Camille BUA, Harry went to Italy, she went to Turks and Caicos with Joe.

1 April 2023 - show after Joe BUA

28 May 2023 - Between Maroon and Hits Different. TR and TK first seen soon after.

Lyrics

The drought was the very worst (Oh-oh, oh-oh) When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst It was months and months of back and forth (Oh-oh, oh-oh) You're still all over me Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore

Is it over now? "With the wilt of the rose (Uh-huh)", Harry responded to this in Sunflower Vol 6 with "Plant new seeds in the melody"

Wine on clothes is many songs: Olivia: "This isn't the stain of a red wine, I'm bleeding love", Little Freak: "Red wine and a ginger ale / But you would make fun of me for sure", Maroon: "The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me" and "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw-top , that's how", The 1: "Rosé flowing with your chosen family" and Grapejuice "There's just no gettin' through / Without you / A bottle of rouge"

Hung my head as I lost the war And the sky turned black like a perfect storm

Taylor has used war as a metaphor for a fight in several songs. And described dark skies for relationship trouble.

This Love: "Skies grew darker, currents swept you out again"

Coney Island: "Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?"

Rain came pouring down When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe And by morning Gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean (Oh, oh, oh, oh)

The imagery of rain pouring down, washing away but also as a metaphor for depression has been a theme in Harry and Taylors songs. Most remarkably in the music videos for Falling/Cardigan, which references these lyrics in Clean.

Clean is referencing Everything has changed, a song about the start of Harry and Taylor's relationship, Clean being an (ending at that time.)

Everything Has Changed: "All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed"

How You Get The Girl: "Stand there like a ghost, shaking from the rain"

Peace: "But the rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me"

There was nothing left to do (Oh-oh, oh-oh) When the butterflies turned to dust that covered my whole room So I punched a hole in the roof (Oh-oh, oh-oh) Let the flood carry away all my pictures of you

Everything has changed is also the only other song Taylor has referred to Butterfly's "And all I feel in my stomach is butterflies, the beautiful kind" which Harry referenced in Olivia "The summertime and butterflies / All belong to your creation / I love you, it's all I do"

Dust is also only in:

Holy Ground: And the story’s got dust on every page

Everything Has Changed: So dust off your highest hopes, and

Right Where You Left Me: Dust collected on my pinned-up hair

Finally, as the closing track, 1989 was a very photo driven marketing campaign, the line of 'washing my pictures of you' and references to photos in the album bring that story to a close.

The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud But no one heard a thing

Harry referenced this line in the Falling Music Video, which Taylor then referenced in the Clean TV Lyric Video:

Ten months sober, I must admit Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it Ten months older, I won't give in Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it

Clean likens their relationship to an addiction, which they do in several songs (Grapejuice "There's just no gettin' through / Without you A bottle of rouge", MMIH “gotta get better / give me some morphine.”)

Is it over now? "Let's fast forward to three hundred takeout coffees later" 300 take out coffees, one a day is 10 months.

The song was written 9 February 2014, 10 months prior was April 2013. One Direction was playing UK shows and Taylor on the US leg of the Red Tour. They were MIA on tour breaks 23 - 25 April 2013 after Harry arrived alone in LA, Harry wearing the Peace Ring when he left LA. Finding that timing makes me feel:

[pichlive]

Undertale Yellow is a marvel of a fan game-- both in its scale, but also in the fact that it was even finished to this level of scale and polish in the first place. I would personally say that not only does it rival the original game in quality, but also does many things that makes it stand out-- not as something 'better', mind you (the classic Undertale is still… well, a classic to me), but as something that, if you were to erase everything 'Undertale' about it… well it'd require a lot of rewriting… but it'd stand just fine on its own lil heart legs!

I feel I would be at a loss to not mention the amount of artistry on display with this ENTIRE game! For one, the sprite work is beautiful-- I was in awe at not only the amount of smooth animation, but also I loved all the backgrounds during certain sections… I wanna say they were some of the most memorable parts of the game. While the aesthetics are demonstrably different from Undertale's-- I wanna say Toby's style is far 'simpler' in terms of sprite work and not as detailed as these are-- that's not to a detriment. I appreciate that they're not trying to surpass or replace the original Undertale but instead are doing their own thing.

Now the music… don't get me wrong-- there are some bangers. Like, I loved all the songs in the OST-- especially whenever they're referencing actual Undertale songs. I do still appreciate them having their own identity… but, at least for the pacifist songs, some of the boss songs in particular felt… off, to me, if that makes sense. I think the problem comes from how 'bombastic' they are-- like, they give me the vibe of 'I would enjoy if I heard this on its own but idk how well I'm feeling hearing this in the moment of the fight'. So the music is excellent-- but there's a dissonance between how some of the more intense songs fit some boss fights.

Now, the writing is where things REALLY shine, imo. I loved all the characters and their quirks and their faults. I know there's discourse regarding some but like… other than we forget so soon how the OG game was written-- I think that's the point. If anything, it makes it more poignant that Clover would choose to be so kind. Honestly this game went from a 3/5 to a 4/5 straight to a 5/5 the moment I hit the pacifist run finale-- I think the game's done something right if I feel so attached to these characters that I can't bare to think of doing a neutral or geno run-- as great as I've heard they are.

Ultimately, I can't recommend Undertale Yellow enough if you loved the original Undertale (if you haven't been recc'd it already)-- my one request is you keep an open mind about it. Both in writing and how it differs from Undertale-- if you hold back your expectations, I promise you'll enjoy something special.

[half-moonshine-full-eclipse]

the thing about g*ylor is… there isn’t really one thing about g*ylor. it’s a shifting sand of several truths at once.

harassing and doxxing people who interpret an ambiguous song as possibly being about a woman and threatening to out a minor to her homophobic family because she was one of those people is fucked up, and wrong.

it’s true that Taylor Alison Swift has never explicitly stated that she’s queer, and she primarily writes songs about men.

acting as if the only ways to signal queerness are disconnected from femininity and feminine aesthetics is fucked up, and wrong.

it’s true that most of Taylor’s music can be directly connected to a man she was interested in, even if some of it does feel performative and superficial.

extreme hostility toward any queer women in the fanbase who connects with the songs Taylor writes because of her own queerness and not in spite of it is fucked up, and wrong.

it’s true that most g*ylor theories are in direct defiance of observed “lore”, are sometimes extremely complicated and self-referential, and are often backed by pretty flawed analysis or understandings of a situation.

treating fans whose opinions will never be seen by Taylor unless she explicitly goes looking for them as if they’re hurting her simply by existing, and attempting to harass and dismiss them out of hand when plenty of inappropriate and invasive behavior is displayed by fans who think she’s straight, is fucked up, and wrong.

it’s also true that Taylor has never said that she’s straight, and has dodged the question in interviews and in her own statements. saying “stop assuming I’m dating my friends” and “even if I associate with women the public assumes I’m romantically involved with everyone because they’re obsessed with my romantic relationships” is not a confirmation of heterosexuality.

she definitely does not go around picking boyfriends so that she can use them to cover up the women the songs are “actually” about.

the timelines around writing certain songs, and the references that correspond to her life, and her secret messages, do indicate that her public persona and the public narrative is purposefully different from what actually happened.

there’s a serious biphobia problem in g*ylor communities - there’s a real refusal to believe that she could be genuinely into men at all, which translates to hostility toward bi people in these spaces.

there are an awful lot of songs about ambiguously gendered partners, and several love songs explicitly referencing traits or behaviors associated with her female friends. there’s a real discomfort with acknowledging this in the broader fandom.

and I could go on, but uh. mostly? g*ylor, right now, is really fucking racist, because the major spaces are absolutely insistent that instead of Taylor going crazy for a hot boy who ended up being really terrible, she’s choosing to stunt with a racist who materially set back gay rights in Malaysia and argues with Muslim teenagers on Twitter about how religion is fake, because those things matter less to her than being outed as a lesbian. Matty being a PR cover > Taylor making a mistake and trying to apologize and process.

lmao nope.

[nite-puff]

Anyway, on to more positive things/general observations. I love how the different renditions of "Punishment Time" have these different musical flairs based on who was getting executed (Leon's starts with the baseball charge and has an ragtime feel reminiscent of music from the same time as the golden age of the sport (tho really that's more Monokuma's classic theater influences than anything), Mondo's is very rock n' roll (plain rock at first but gets more vintage towards the end), Celestia's with the grand harpsichord, Alter Ego's having this beeping and booping that reminds me of a telegraph, and Junko's takes elements from all of them). Also, "Soundproof" should have been in the main body of the album along with "Flunkin' Thrice" and "Deep End" instead of being bonus tracks, they're all very good and I feel like they would help break up the breakneck pace a little bit. Also, can we talk about the bit in "You Don't Know" where Taka and Celeste harmonize when calling the people they end up closest to in the game stupid??? Like there's Some Kind of Parallel being drawn there but idk what, especially since they changed Hifumi to a girl in-text, so now both pairs also have homoerotic tension. Also, girl Hifumi! 👏👏👏👏

Yes!!! To all of this!!!

I love all of the “Punishment Time” renditions, and the idea that Junko’s is a mashup of all of the past musical flairs is a really good way to reflect how her execution is a mashup of all the previous ones. Good musical storytelling! And I at first didn’t catch what the music in Mondo’s was referencing (because Leon, Celeste, and Alter Ego’s are a little more obvious), but when I noticed it’s supposed to be classic rock, I just got really happy for some reason. Like yeah, classic 50-60’s American bikers are what Mondo’s subculture is inspired by, so that kind of music would be super fitting. That’s such a neat detail that I really appreciate!

And yes, “Soundproof”, “Flunkin’ Thrice”, and “Deep End” should’ve been in the actual story (though I guess “Deep End” sort of is, since the beginning is part of “My Sacrifice” and henceforth sort of becomes Aoi’s motif for the rest of the show). Because Hiro, Sayaka, and Leon don’t get a lot of music moments outside of those tracks. I was trying to think that maybe all of the bonus tracks could be part of the show, but “Happen” could probably slow down the pacing a little too much, and “Powermore,” while not completely out-of-line with the rest of the songs, is very similar to some other tracks. It’d just be more of the same type of “we need to have hope” songs, so I kind of get why they didn’t include it. And “Hifumi for Christmas”… is just “Hifumi for Christmas” and really deserves its placement as a bonus track. But the other three could really serve as breathers between everything else. (And isn’t it kinda effed up that Sayaka, the Ultimate Pop Sensation, and Leon, a wannabe music performer, don’t get their own song(s) featured in the main line-up??)

Also, Hifumi actually got genderswapped?? Like that’s canon to the musical??? I didn’t know that! Girl Hifumi for the win!!!!! So yeah “You Don’t Know” has a ton of homoerotic tension. And nice girlfriend moments with Aoi and Sakura asking Chihiro to join them for their workout.

[dustedmagazine]

Personal Trainer — Still Willing (Bella Union)

Photo by Tomvan Huisstede

Having pushed play on track one of Personal Trainer’s new album without reading any notes, its hyper specific Melbourne referencing title “Upper Ferntree Gully” had me expecting to hear a sardonic Aussie voice either celebrating or bemoaning their outer suburban upbringing. Instead, a Dutch woman speaks “Dat klinkt ook heel lekker natuurlijk, Upper Ferntree Gully, haha!” Personal Trainer is Amsterdam musician Willem Smit, and his mother is bemused and delighted that he is writing a song about her birthplace. It’s a singularly apt beginning of an album on which Smit explores growing up and reflects on how the assumption of responsibility grants perspective on relationships with both family of birth and family of choice. It’s a strain of ambivalent nostalgia reflected in the music. Smit seems to have absorbed a bunch of 1990s indie albums especially Beautiful Freak and Irresistible Bliss. He shares the genre fluid mix of seriousness and exuberance of Eels and Soul Coughing and his words combine E’s acutely observational lyrics with M Doughty’s beat poetry.

When “Upper Ferntree Gully” takes off, it’s to the sort of easy midtempo riffs that once made Billy Corgan listenable, with a soupçon of Mascis noise thrown in for good measure as Smit builds an intergenerational metaphor from a kangaroo pouch. It sets the scene for an album of sharp twists that owes its success to the personality and wit of Smit’s omnivore genre jigsawing. The opening vocal of “Cyan” has a similar distortion to Eels’ “Susan’s House” before shifting into a bass heavy Rube Goldberg hip-hop adjacent rhythm familiar to fans of Soul Coughing. Saxophonist Nick Bolland adds the jazz and Lena Hessels the vocal counterpoint to Smit’s musings about love and doubt. Smit goes full E on the self-deprecatory “New Bad Feeling” singing “Hold me tight/And summon a bravado from the chasm that I really am” and the title track, a cri de coeur for identity forged in youth, “I wonder who I used to be/I wonder what we had for drinks in the evening/The boys are drifting off in different directions/But I remain.” The crowning glory of comes at the end. “What am I supposed to say about the People and Their Ways” is a weary parable about creativity that provides a summation of Smit’s Beckettian world view. With The Klittens on backing vocals, Smit questions his ability to influence his world with words. He needn’t worry.

Andrew Forell

[my-rights-are-grian-rights]

🔪: 1,2,19,22,35

🔧: 1,4,5 22, 30, 35

Zhulong: 12,22, 35

HIII HEEHEE finished watching 1 dollar love actually dvd because our wifi went out but IM BACK AND I GET TO TALK ABOUT MY SILLIES

wow this post is gonna be Long soooo adding the cut now~!

🔪:

1: are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

UHHHH okay sOOO the simplest answer is probably black bc like. it wears a lotta black. military gear etc is usually black? but! its got this stupid orange striped short sleeve shirt thats actually like. a uniform (as in. I referenced the batman 2022 Arkham uniform when I first designed this idiot. yea) so its usually associated with either orange or red (for blood rawrrr)

2: what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

oh uh!!!!! I dont think this thing listens to music. tbh everything would be better if it did but! it get zero enrichment ever. so instead for this question I get to give you two songs I associate with it for some reason or another. because I said so. and those are House of Wolves (MCR) and Barbie Girl (Aqua). I want to know what you think of it from these two songs together because the combination is sooooo silly to me

19: are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

ooooo this one is fun to think about. mmm I think generally it's not very like,,, externally angry. it is in a perpetual state of something between annoyance and disdain almost all the time (when not Letting Loose), but that's a bit different from angry, I think. things that will make it snap at you: remove mask w/o permission, get touchy w it without permission. probably other things too I forget. things that will make it do super petty things and/or get revenge on you some other way: assume you've got the best of it. assume you're in charge. assume you're in control.

22: do they sleep well at night?

bold of you to assume it sleeps yea well uhh. its a pretty light sleeper I think but it can sleep wherever. no nightmares or w/e its just. rechargin I think

35: do they ever return home?

no. lol. zero percent chance of this thing ever returning home and idk if that ever even existed for it. if it gets a "happy" ending its going to have to claw that into existence itself. and why would it

🔧:

1: are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

blue! they wear the most black, again, but thats cause of the goofy suit thing I've got ingame. blue tie blue waistcoat blue accents on the gas mask, so blue's ended up as their color :3

4: how crafty/resourceful are they?

the wrench is their emoji because that's its main weapon. if that says anything. dont think it'd be the best at like. street brawlin no supplies no powers but it can be pretty inventive with the things it knows how to use.

5: how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

oh it's so stupid <3. suit jacket tie collared shirt waistcoat belt black cargo pants with big ole pockets fingerless gloves combat boots w straps and a belt chain. it's sooo stupid. <3333,,. character creators be like what if all the pieces we let you use were assorted pieces of other characters. OH and dont forget the half gas mask. when I made this guy I referenced one of two Literal Actual Techwear Official Dot Com gas masks. the pockets are practical at least? and thats just one outfit realistically it has other clothing too but idk what though. probably they steal clothing from the rogues lol

22: do they sleep well at night?

depends on where they are! with dork squad probably! unless one or more of them get on an inventing bend or something but it can just wrangle them back to sleep or at least to be quieter. with the sirens that's more of a wild card. depending on if harl's there she's def gonna wanna like stay up n talk or something. tbh though most things happen at night. like heists! :D but they can usually get a good sleep in. and even a lazy morning, probably!

30: do they smell like anything notable?

uhhh probably vaguely like flowers and/or fear toxin. lol. can you tell what I sourced this guy from yet

35: do they ever return home?

it never returns to where it came from, but that place (read: dimension. lol) was never really home. they do find a home, where they end up. and they're happy.

Zhulong:

12: how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

oh man how long has this guy been around? discord chat messages says I made him December 16 of last year. I do not know his birthday. it could just be dec 16 that would be silly. kayfabe though he doesn't really have one hes just Old lol. out of kayfabe hes like chill about bdays I think he'll get ppl close to him a present or whatever. in kayfabe he didnt really get it pre Punishment I dont think but with his whole Chained In A Human Body thing he gets to have a crisis! yay ! over He Is Aging and He Will Die !! again!!!! yipeee!!!

22: do they sleep well at night?

out of kayfabe as long as hes not too sore or w/e he's good. usually conked out from exercising. in kayfabe uhhh he thinks sleeping is weird. his lore says he never eats or sleeps or breathes but now he has to. and he hates it.

30: do they ever return home?

I think he goes to visit his parents sometimes :3 (outside kayfabe.) lol silly answer. in kayfabe nah the place he considers home is long gone and buried by time. and even if it still existed he'd never be able to reach it as he is. sorry

[voskhozhdeniye]

So @bobbyhillrealness is doing a zine on artists among their friends and family, and has sent us questions to answer about our art. One of the questions is, "Three songs that would describe your work?"

I figured I'd share my answer on here too. I'll do three songs that have been/are influential to my music, and three of my own that I look at as moments where it felt like things clicked for me.

Nine Inch Nails - Vessel: Year Zero was my first NIN album. Trent and Radiohead are probably the two groups that after being raised on major label top 40s as a child, and well into my teens, really made me pay attention to aspects of being an artist that I had never considered. There's a Thom York quote about Radiohead opening for R.E.M., and how while musically R.E.M. aren't a huge influence on Radiohead, being around R.E.M. showed them how to carry themselves as a band. Both NIN and Radiohead have had nasty battles with record labels in the past. Trent has been trying to put out a live DVD since 2008. His ex record label, which he hasn't been on since 2007, has blocked each attempt. In 2008, he "helped" fans sneak cameras into multiple shows. He then "leaked" his personal audio recordings of those shows online. The fans made and distributed their own DVD. Both bands, in different ways, taught me to value the creative process. As for the song in general, I had never heard anything like that at the time. That song, and the album in general, really made me pay attention to what I was listening to. I started questioning what I was listening to, and wondering how it was made. After years of listening to Trent's music, the thing I've noticed is that he is very good at fitting noisy, experimental sounds, tones and ideas into compact pop music structure. Closer sounds like a children's merry go round in hell. My Movement modular synth was built to sound like Vessel.

DJ Shadow - Stem/Long Stem: Every song on this album is made up of samples from other songs. So the drums might be from one song, the bass from another, a guitar sample from one place, a piano sample from another, and so on. Earlier, I'm referencing an answer to another question not mentioned in this post, I spoke about how I gather scraps from everyday life for my art, particularly for my writing. Shadow is the musical equivalent, gathering samples from all over the musical spectrum to build new compositions. I think of art like papier-mâché. You take small pieces and build towards a grander piece. Trent and Miles Davis, when he was alive, worked in a similar way to Shadow, except instead of using other people's samples. They record their bands playing, and then chop up, sample, and rearrange their own recordings. That's where I'm at with my music now.

Yellow Swans - Going Places & Pan Sonic - Teurastamo: Yellow Swans and Pan Sonic are groups I've learned about in recent years. Both have influenced my music in different ways. Yellow Swans are noisy, walls of sound. When I first started building the modular, the goal was to build a drone machine. As I built it, the Daft Punk fan in me also wanted a say in its construction. There was a point where I found these two influences to be conflicting. I have always loved Daft Punk's Rollin' & Scratchin'. While that song is a good example of that combination, I imagined noise damaged dance music, equally indebted to both styles. Pan Sonic made dance music, but they were equally interested in harsh noise. Early Yellow Swans incorporates drums and at times sounds like really aggressive '90s Busta Rhymes beats. I haven't really looked up what either band's creative process was, but through listening, I've picked up things that I've attempted to try with the tools and knowledge available to me.

As for my own music.

December: There's a joke among modular synth users. There are multiple formats of modular. The version I use is named Eurorack. It's been nicknamed by some as Eurocrack. This is from 2017. It was the first of my now monthly State of the Artist patch. I was less than a year into everything at that point, and was spending money on modules unsure if I actually had talent, or if it was the money hiding deficiencies. Looking back, that was a very simple patch, but my inexperience made it a good teaching moment. I think that was the first thing I made that made me feel like it wasn't the money. Honestly, at times it has been money holding me back, but a lot of times it's just been inexperience, which is resolved with time, and the lack of ability to transfer thoughts into tangible art. I feel like your creative process is learning how to overcome that hurdle.

The Future: This was April 2020. I had just gotten the music computer right before Christmas and was still learning my way around. I had formed an early process when working on the computer, and was working at getting more comfortable with it. This is a very simple track. It's just a short sequence repeating over and over while I manipulate the filter type and filter cutoff. I'm very interested in catharsis through art. This was an attempt at something like Nils Frahm's Says.

Nature Walk Daydream: This is longer than it needs to be, but oh well. This is from April, and it really conveys the DJ Shadow everything goes in the pot thinking I spoke about earlier. This starts with multiple loops of birds I recorded early one morning. Eventually, a synth that resembles the bird calls joins in. As the song slowly unfolds, drums come in and the bird calls become a part of a beat. The idea for the song is that you're taking a walk through the woods and begin to daydream. When it goes back to just the birds, it's you being snapped out of the daydream.

[mayimkjs]

An Introduction to MILGRAM

I decided to do this because I had everything written out for FOOL's MATE. Send it to your friends lamo.

Introduction

MILGRAM (ミルグラム) is an ongoing interactive music project by DECO*27 and Takuya Yamanaka that was first established in April 2020. MILGRAM is a mysterious, magical prison that houses 10 prisoners who have all committed a murder and it’s the job the guard to determine if their crimes are forgivable.

MILGRAM also contains a runic code alphabet that can be translated into the latin alphabet. This is seen on all uniforms and the website.

How do you decide what they are? 

Each prisoner gets 3 trials. After each interrogation, they are put through the MILGRAM system that extracts songs and music videos from their mind that will slowly explain what they’ve done. When someone receives a guilty verdict, they get more restraints put on them. The prisoners perceive their judgements as voices in their minds telling them that they're guilty or innocent/forgiven or not forgiven.

What is the purpose of MILGRAM?

I think the manga best explains the purpose of MILGRAM. Even though the manga is set it a different MILGRAM, it still has the same purpose. As the manga puts it, MILGRAM exists to oversee cases were people can’t be judged based on existing laws and puts them in front of someone with the role of a guard. The job of this guard is to review the prisoners’ “sins” or crimes and deem them innocent/forgiven or guilty/unforgiven. 

So what exactly does the audience do?

You experience MILGRAM through the eyes of Es, guided by the talking rabbit, Jackalope. After each song is released, you are able to vote on whether you can forgive the prisoner for their crimes or not. Each prisoner is guilty of murder. You just have to decide if their actions are forgivable or not. The final verdict for each prisoner during each trial has side effects. For example, Kotoko was voted innocent during trial 1 and ended up beating the shit out of all the guilty prisoners except Amane because she didn't have time for her. The viewer is the one who is writing these prisoners stories and the one who decides how this story ends. You don’t have to do deep dives or even read or listen to the voice dramas. The only thing you really need to do, is watch the MV and listen to the song.

How are the trials structured? 

MV release and voting for that prisoner opens.

EP release later that day. The EPs consists of:

The song

The instrumental for that song

A cover and rearrangement of a DECO*27 song

Instrumental for the cover

A voice drama

Interrogation cards are released on the app and Twitter. 

The voice dramas present us with each prisoner’s surface emotions, while the music videos reveal their underlying ones.

What is the “MILGRAM Portal”?

MILGRAM Portal is the official mobile app for MILGRAM, published by CRAYON Inc. It is currently exclusive to Japan. This app includes news, MVs, interrogations, trial voting and timeline conversations. 

What are timeline conversations? 

These are conversations between prisoners. You can make comments on these posts, but the prisoners won't see or hear you. 

Background

Originally, Yamanaka wanted to make MILGRAM into a video game. But after the release of “Otome Dissection”, which was OTOIRO’s first work, he decided to go the route that MILGRAM has went. They wanted to make this accessible to everyone and not put anything as important as voting behind a paywall. Mikoto and Kotoko (or maybe Yuno instead) might have been added later after a suggestion from DECO to “include a character who would cause a stir in MILGRAM”. The characters DECO and Yamanaka where referring to in the interview I am referencing were not name dropped, but considering the context, it seems this is who they might have been referring to. MILGRAM is made with questions like “Can you forgive someone after knowing their crimes?” and “What would you do if you couldn’t forgive someone you loved?” in mind. 

How is it made?

OTOIRO is in charge of producing the project. Team OTO (DECO, Rockwell, sometimes TeddyLoid) works on the music and audio portion, where's Team IRO works on the videos, official art and other graphics such as the interrogation cards.

When making the songs, DECO records a demo of him singing the song, at least this was the case for Undercover. All of the covers are picked by DECO because he thinks they hit the character’s voice. The covers have no relevance to the plot. 

After each character is voted for, they start working on the music for the next season. During this time, DECO and Yamanaka are also brainstorming ideas for forgiven and unforgiven outcomes. 

Who are the people behind this?

Takuya Yamanaka (山中拓也)

Co-Producer, Story/Author

Takuya Yamanaka is a writer who has a degree in psychology. He couldn't go into a psychology based job because he was deemed "too sensitive" and got too involved in others emotions. Other from MILGRAM, h’s most well known for being the creator of the Caligula series.

He is also a cheeky bastard. 

DECO*27

Co-Producer, Composition/Music, Lyrics

Pronounced Deco Niina, he is a VOCALOID producer who has been active since 2008. He is currently one of the most popular producers and has over 100 vocaloid songs. 

Rockwell

Arrangement, Composition/Music

Rockwell (ロックウェル, 69ℓ), also known as Tomoki Uchiba (内場智樹), is a Japanese songwriter, arranger and guitarist.  He's a former member of the rock band "Silhouette from The Skylit". He left the band in August 2016, and in September 2016 he started his career as artist Rockwell. It is said that Rockwell and DECO*27 went to the same high school and both members of the judo club.

DMYM

Typography/Prop Designer, Art and Animation Director, Card Designer

No.734, also known as Doumae Yumi or DMYM, is a graphic designer and illustrator. After graduating from the Comprehensive Design Department of Kuwasawa Design School, she worked as a freelance designer and illustrator for BALCOLONY. In October 2018, she became one of the art directors and illustrators of OTOIRO.

akka

Original/Main Character/Color Designer, Composite, Animation Director, Key Animator

akka is an illustrator who has been creating PVs since 2009. akka's first involvement with VOCALOID PVs was a fanmade video for "Two Breaths Walking" that has since reached over 1,000,000 views, the PV is the starting association with DECO*27.

OTOIRO

Production Company, Sound and Visual Creation

OTOIRO Inc. is a Tokyo-based creative studio which is active in the production of music. It was established in October 2018 with DECO*27 as the CEO. OTOIRO operates on the basis of two divisions of 'creators':

OTO (sound): focuses on the production of sound.

IRO (color): focuses on the production of artworks and movies.

arma banca Co,. Ltd

Merchandising, Event Planning, Record Label 

arma bianca is a character goods merchandising company that runs Amnibus and many pop up shops. The also produce line stickers and help plan and organize digital content such as MILGRAM.

With the start of Trial 2, they opened their own record label, arma Records. The are also in charge of pop up shops and were heavily involved with the first live show, “hallucinations” and run the main merch shop with is hosted on Amnibus.

The arma bianca-associated producer working on MILGRAM is Sakai Tomonari (坂井智成).

[fairytale-poll]

Sorry if this has been asked before but

I see that you have two different Ella's Enchanteds, one from the movie and one from the book. As a fan of both, I think this is an excellent choice, because they're both wildly different characters.

My question is: do you intend to do something similar for the Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella? Because the traditional 1957 made-for-TV version written by Rodgers and Hammerstein and starring Julie Andrews is also VERY different from the 1997 Disney TV version starring Brandy Norwood. I think the Brandy Norwood one is the most well recognized (and it's my favorite adaptation of the fairy tale to date and probably will have my vote every time lol) but in my humble opinion, I think that Julie Andrews deserves her own slot too. Because despite having many songs in common, the plot for the two stories are very much so different, and the two actresses played the character in entirely different ways. That said, if you'd rather just have one Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella instead of two, I completely understand - and all the love in the world to Julie Andrews but Brandy is the best Cinderella of all time <3

No need to apologize!

Yes, I was planning on giving them their individual spots. It seems everyone submitting has clarified on their own which one they were submitted (either by including the year when referencing the movie or mentioning Brandy or Julie Andrews in their propaganda, making it clear what their intentions were).

So far the 1997 with Brandy is way more popular, as it has been submitted 9 times, and the 1957 one with Brandy has only been submitted twice, but there's still a lot of time for Julie Andrews fans to catch it up :)

For reference on other characters:

I also have a separate category for the Ever After musical as someone submitted that separately from the 1998 movie. I'm not familiar with the musical, but it seems to be a separate thing. I am, however, keeping the same category for Disney animation's original 1950 Cinderella movie and the 2007 Cinderella III A Twist in Time, despite a few Twist in Time fans specifically disavowing the 1950 original movie. It's clearly a sequel in the same series by the same company, so it just makes the most sense.

[themuselesswriter]

Shining Rockstar - Oneshot

Characters: Kelly Lord, Original Female Character (Liliana) Summary: Liliana walks on Kelly while he is dancing in his warehouse, he thinks she'd abandon him, but instead, she joins his moment of fun. Word count: 500+ Warnings: slight self hatred, referenced bullying A/N: none Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is Picsart

---------------------------------------------------------- He danced and sang, his eyes were closed, the music blared loudly, enveloping him in the feeling of a rock star. He felt free from cares and troubles, his fur coat acting as a shield against pain, misery, disrespect, and disappointment.

He danced with such carefree that he failed to notice the door opening or the sound of approaching heels. She entered silently, enjoying the view. As the song finished, he opened his eyes and caught sight of her. She grinned, yet his reaction seemed more fear than excitement or happiness.

"How long... have you been standing there?" he inquired coldly, avoiding her gaze. She nonchalantly shrugged. "Since the first chorus. I never knew you had such dance moves" Her smile didn't seem to alleviate his distress. "Oh no, that expression. You're about to say something I won't like. Just say it already" Liliana sighed as she found a seat amidst the warehouse clutter.

"I'm just waiting for you to laugh at me and break up with me" he confessed. She appeared perplexed. "Why would I do that?" Now he was the one confused. His past experiences were filled with ridicule and laughter from those close to him, so why should she be different? "Kells, your happiness while dancing matters to me. I wouldn't mock something that brings you joy" she reassured him. "Yes, even the eyeshadow... it could've been better, but that doesn't change how I see you"

A brief silence hung in the air as he absorbed her words. He glanced at the ground and then back at her. "Are you... being serious?" he asked. She nodded. "And I wouldn't mind seeing you flaunt that coat of yours" She stepped closer, her touch tracing lines on his bare chest. He was taken aback, yet he welcomed her touch and the sound of her soothing voice.

Still skeptical, he struggled to believe that someone could truly love and accept him. She sighed, took his hand, and guided him to sit. He complied, waiting for her next move. She searched around and returned with a makeup brush and the eyeshadow palette he had used before.

"Close your eyes" she instructed, dabbing eyeshadow onto the brush. With his eyes closed, she carefully adjusted his eyeshadow. She handed him a mirror. Opening his eyes, he gazed at his reflection. His eyes were transformed, and he was left speechless.

"Here, do mine" she handed him the brush and palette. She smiled, pulling him to his feet she took a seat at chair. She closed her eyes, her trust evident. He hesitated briefly before he began applying the eyeshadow. "You're truly okay with this?" he questioned. "Yes, love. I appreciate this side of you; it's a part of who you are" she affirmed. Handing her the mirror, he said, "Take a look" She smiled, a giggle escaping. "Not bad" he grinned.

Liliana rummaged through the scattered items until she found what she sought: a beautiful black fur coat. She undid her top, took it off, her bra followed, she put the coat on, nothing covering her but her red shorts and the fur coat, her appearance mirroring Kelly's. She approached him, showcasing herself. "What do you think?" Once again, he was struck speechless, a smile playing on his lips. "You look stunning" he whispered.

Her grin widened as she located the radio station with the perfect song. She dashed to him, took his hand, and led him back to where he had danced before. she swayed to the music, her joy contagious as he eventually joined in.

Their dance conveyed happiness, as if they owned the world without concerns. Kelly's gaze remained fixed on her; she embraced him, loved him, and accepted him with all his quirks and vulnerabilities. It was hard to believe that just moments ago, he had feared rejection and abandonment. He smiled. "I love you" he confessed while dancing. She nodded, smiling. "I love you too" Drawing closer, he gently kissed her, a gesture overflowing with affection. "Perhaps we could grab a bite afterward?" she suggested after their lips parted. He agreed. "My treat" he offered promptly. She chuckled, "Of course, my shining rock star"